The storm-tossed hull of me
would find harbour, haven:
this is prayer and poem.
This is prayer and poem.
Your body, just five years older
than mine, is tired.
Your body, older than mine,
is tired. I would soothe your nerves
with tender touches, with kisses.
With tender touches, with kisses,
we fumble toward our own theology.
Poetry by Thomas D
Read 40 times
Written on 2021-03-20 at 12:09
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