Intimacy
Intimacy
Even in the dark I think of you—
That these shadows have made me long for your touch.
Might that I wrap myself in the soft, white blanket of your skin,
your whispers tumbling warmly into my ear.
And yet as I consider the tenderness within your voice
It is only the sound of my heart—trembling
To be next to you.
Charles Coakley Simpson
Thistles
Thistles
Might the thorn
be as fragrant as the flower,
that the paradox of love is in the irony of its pain.
Thus I am drawn into a garden of thistles
where even the rose is entangled within its vine
that I cannot deny my passion
for beauty
Charles Coakley Simpson
Infatuation
Infatuation
Speak to me in colors–
thus tinted are the windows to your soul.
Might that I marvel in the mystery
as it skirts ‘cross their pond.
And yet stilled are the words; they lie like copper
upon my tongue–tarnished.
For I cannot find them enough to say
“I love you.”
Charles Coakley Simpson
Charles
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