intimate strangers

march 1994
my soul, set upon a silver platter,
fragile enough for you to shatter.
some day, will all this even matter?
the tyke left me in such a tatter.
silence, broken by your whispers,
stirs my soul only to be bound
in the rapture of your touch
and carressed by the nutured kiss
held close in our arms together,
fate is shunned by a scarlet thread;
vigil is cast into the seering wind
as the blood drips from my head
the rhythm of your flowing lifeblood
pulsates through our entwined being
as the memory will live long, resided
in the clasped petals of a rose, awaking.
d. e. storey