I have found happiness
Of a sort
In the liquid softness
Of your breast.
Your arms enfold me
In the dark;
Yielding our bodies, we
In silence speak
The language of the body–
Wordless syntax flesh engraved.
Held fast in your embrace,
Lies we tell dissipate.

 

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(c) George Eraclides 2008. Published in Woorilla Magazine