No claw paw can hold me,
Soft lips touch my ear.
This spirit runs free.
An open palm waves,
Sweet in the scent of your hand.
To touch, to taste, to tickle,
The thrill gentle, fan of colour,
Gift sent from my mother.
Be free and fly if you choose,
And stay with me awhile.
Honey words of love my muse,
Drift down from above...
3 comments:
I love this, and the pic to match. A dream place only we can travel to with our love of the feminine, voice - sound - skin - scent...
I do my best to honor the gifts given from my mother and father.
Ha, I was going to put almost exactly what Ellen said, great words and an awesome picture to go with it!!!
Post a Comment