In Want Of Your Unveil

22 Sep


Among the withered roses,
I find you there, wanting,
sweltered in troubled mist,
and closed within yourself;
let my hand touch soft now
at the shroud of your heart,
where I uncloak gilded flesh;
and in your unveiling then,
become the shroud you wear
within vulnerable breast,
replacing the shorn remorse,
and, with your acquiescence,
conform to your wanton heart.

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Posted by on September 22, 2015 in My Poetry



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