My Fever
I have a sickness,
miserably hot,
all cures resisting.
The fever burns
and tips me
from hot too hotter.
My eyes see her face,
the paleness of the moon
highlights her beauty
her checks
hold the flush of dawn
and the twilights blush.
Her hazel eyes
hold the brightest
stars of heaven within.
Her copper tone hair
excites the deepest part of me
smoldering my deficiency.
Her wavering strands of lips
contagious to my weak state.
Thirsty for the sweet milk
of her essence.
My ears hunger for her voice
to sooth their ache
while my thoughts
sizzle with her fragrance
spreading a blanket around us.
My chest
is on fire,
igniting the purring feeling
within.
Yet I would not trade
this malady for
Rubes and gold.
Poetry by Firehark
Read 244 times
Written on 2006-11-11 at 00:33
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