Internal Masseuse
As beauty appears in all her glory,
her smooth lines of supple velvet,
her sunsets of effervescent crimson,
her clouds of a creamy white liquid,
her eyes throwing kisses to the wind,
her slender fingers dancing
with the symphonic air,
moving inside my teary eyes
with her torches lighting up
the dark moss covered corridors
with enough room
to slide her fingers through,
as she massaged the rough lining
that encircled my stolid heart,
my heart that was my
only friend and counselor.
Her fingers worked their
magic through me and left
an indentation of her fingertips
from her slow moving strokes,
a softness upon my nervous nerves,
a sweet perfume inside my nostrils,
scattered roses throughout my mind,
a poem that spoke to me
and made its way to my tongue,
a new me that I never met before,
a romantic stranger that grew out of me,
that heard the universe breathing,
that awoke with the
dews of heaven upon my lips,
a sweet wine from the
vineyards in my soul
and a yearning to live inside of her,
that internal masseuse that
came inside of me to
knead my heart and make it pliable
and taught me that there is
another me inside waiting to get out.
