By E. R Fletcher
My empty ribs and sallow, sunk
Eyes dart around my frescoed
mind, and there you are. Dear,
Confess! Just to hold your gentle face.
My soul rejoices at your visage, do
Look with favour, your lowly servant
Supine at your shrine- Oh,
Much Less! Kiss my curled temple.
I’ve loved you since I met you-
Maria- every day the same, and
Growing- I scarcely sleep, my thoughts
undressed- I’ve made such an awful hames.
Look beyond my eyes, I beg-
God! Bless, my perfect shame.
Image Credit: PJW Photography