To touch a rose is as pointless as
to smell a sunset,
texture incapable of translation
from one sense to another.
thus I will embody all of you,
holding the essence in borrowed places within,
inaccessible to the detached reality outside.
In here, your grace saves me
from superficial desires.
wanton luxuries void of substance,
ugly cravings of hungry ego
interfering with Truth;
necessities of the soul
boiled down and reduced
All else is killing time,
this life of length and longing,
leaving me in a pattern of stillness.
rejecting any contact of consequence -
from day through day
until again we two are one.
If I never again feel
the physical sensation of lust fulfilled
or experience the corporeal impression
of love exchanged,
I will rest at ease
to replay favored scenes and fastforward
to dreams of this angel