Spring Cleaning

If my body is your temple,
Your spark kindles my inmost fire.
In the dark, I tend your flame,
Drawing strength from the promise
Of warmth and light.

When the ashes pile up high and
The air grows heavy with our closeness,
I loosen the fastenings on the shutters,
Draw back the bolts from across the gates,
Let all my doors and windows open wide.
I let the ashes blow away,
A gust of silvery powder,
The residue of our silent solitude.

And after that, still and soft you come,
Brightly through my empty halls.
Flooding my chambers with clear air,
You consecrate my body with your light
And make this temple home.

©jsmorgane Feb 2018

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. A passionate poem.


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