White Virgin Bride

Beauty stands. White room, white lace.
My virgin bride. Her nervous heart.
Behind the windows of my sight & soul, tears well for passion found.
I seek to love. But love will not be touched. Not yet.
She stands alone & cautiously I worship her.
My eyes are silken hands which caress her sensual skin.
– Her golden cheeks, her perfect face. The lips I seek to kiss & taste.
Red roses bask in heaven’s surround.
No need for God.
Lady flirts with nature’s tailor.
& succulent perfumed perfection formed.
I speak no sound. I break no rules. I love her deeply, never touch her soul.
I wait. & watch. I bide my time.
This girl too rich in such sweet delights.
I idolise. I dream & wait.
Each second past in warmth affection, age will haunt & death walk close.
Stillness encapsulates the frozen image of her female form.
I smile a fool, victory in admiration.
I know she’ll walk. I know she’ll run.
But like a fly of love trapped on beauty’s web,
I’m too scared to twitch in case she bites.
Or screams & nightmares start & terror fills my naked heart.
I love her.
So I remain a ghost to her
I watch in soft delicate desire.
A slow approach, slow kiss, slow love.
My moments of bliss trapped in time.
Still beauty smiles & I collapse in love,
A passion surges through this broken heart.

~ A secret which I keep stirs in peaceful times. A heart of love full for her.

© ed simkins

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