Not to be wasted, Your love to be tasted,
Explode the creative,
Atoms in my hands.
These hands that feel, Your pain that is real,
My arms are your keel,
Safe in our Ark.
The moments are protected, By our memories collected,
As our hearts entwined connected,
Our diamond Cucoon.
Gentle sounds and shapes, Our touching bodies, they make,
Let us please never, ever awake,
These precious diminishing days
I breathe you in hard with mouth and nose, Your scent like a rose,
My body filled with rhyme and prose,
The lost years before we met.
Do we need to leave this bed, Your touch lost, I would be dead,
You can never leave my head,
Our addiction, our obsession.
.©PEDRO-BATPOET 2018
Pedro Batpoet 