Poetry: Her.

Photo by Jonathon Friedman

Her.

Read her like a book

Rolling hillside curves.

Thighs amber light, backbone bind.

Hooked on her look, light waves of her spine.

Swollen and fertile -her... breasts.

Divine goddess of her porcelain profile.

From beyond, belief, It couldn’t be...

Those innocent eyes, tell me stories like lines...In a poem.

The language of love, that I can now decipher, no cage could.. ever confine her untamable heart.

Outline the constellation of beauty marks.

I could spend- bend time to find her in a thousand lives to map her mind.

To count the universes in her eyes.

To kiss her just one last time.

Her.

-Artist on the Edge