Move you,
Soothe you
To the coming storms
Where we shall frolic,
Instead of whimper.

We are made for might,
Not for fright.
Your bed of flesh
Is my pillow.
My arms shall be your haven
Of protection.

Guide you,
Survive you
To the weakness of a moment.
You hold garments on silken white skin
Needing not to remain.

I lift what has been clouded by fog.
I dream for what will be mine in the mounds
Of Earth, forming our bloody birth
Of beauty upon an understanding of a rose
That each petal is a new life, grown,
A new moment, sown.

I lay you down
Upon an open book.
I surrender your eyes
To the onset of love.
I kiss you,
I undress you
To the rays of the golden sun
That approach you for ways so done,

So won.

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