All of my passions come landing here
Muted
In the soft whisper of finger tips tracing along
The hollows of cheekbones
The bowing ridge of brows
My soul unfolding into another’s
Piercing fixed gaze
My feathered pneuma
Is traveling like a flighted bird
Into those ocular portals
In through a house of turning corridors
And doors around corners
It’s following the coolness of a draft
Through blind turns
These thumping wings just a whisper
Quiet
Where can such passions set down gently
When even delicate avian claws
Seek to sink in
