So deep the powers holding such,
That fingers, lips would hold; embrace,
That angel’s skin and loving face.
And, now caressing arm and hand,
Across your brow each gorgeous strand-
Of flaxen hair; our eyes now meet,
Exchanging glances tender sweet.
So hold me close and ne’er let go,
The sun upon horizon’s glow,
All crimson reds our passions flare,
As we begin love’s final dare.
Our souls just sense each where and how,
Retreat is not an option now,
No shame; regret to find release,
A final joy in lover’s peace.
Peter Lowell Paulson
March 3, 2012
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