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When You Come To Me
by Susan Abraham
In tossed-up dreams, like a whirlpool
cascading up a sunlit storm,
your soft skin stored in a dusty calm
and from when
the loving hour dates, you appear
now late, my handsome, washed-up king
a gift from the late night shift.
Just now tired, jaded
and a sight in the darkness, asking
for a kiss, that I must give lest
we miss the bliss that pleases
to the tune you bring for me
in which to sing.
Your beauty...prying, silent and
unseen to the waking eye arches my
sleepy sigh like a melodramatic spy...
gushing smiles, surprise and all things
nice to bug open a rushed sweet hug.
I am torn between loving or snoring,
sinking or embracing where
possibilities abound like a comet,
poised for a rocket on the majestic,
soar of your brash romantic roar
somewhere in my lovelorn stash.
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