The Inner Side Of Your Perfection
to get intimacy
you make love
to be more intimate
you need to make love some more
like a string of
buds of
tiny flowers
seemingly you want it without
an ending
eternity & infinity
side by side
but there is no intimacy in intimacy
since after each lovemaking
you return to the
emptiness of your arms again
less the other arms of those
other nights & other nights
before them
a cold night returns
with empty hands
and winds begin to pass
by your face
between your eyes
beyond your
hair
outside all of you
finally you try embracing yourself again
as though
you are another distinct set of arms
unto your
inner arms
and then you become one
without need
of any other
silent and
complete
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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