Touch

Your pulse runs softly
through your chest
and rise to the ceiling
of the cathedral
inside of my hands

My smile pours down your
stomach like wine

and I feel the metal in your breath
when I bury my face
in this acre of skin

You steam
like the lakes do
every morning

and the fragrance of you
runs through me
like summerrain in December

All my blood is so full
of you
that every eyeless cell in me
know you

when my fingers
wrap your lips around them
like carpets of honey



Poetry by Geir Ove Kvalheim
Read 432 times
Written on 2012-05-28 at 17:55

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