July 11, 2013


as the sight of you,
it always has 
its way with me.
Even though 
I think I'm free,
it's waiting
somewhere near at hand,
fit for moments
of despair, stemming 
existential fear.
Nothing soothes 
the soul as well, 
I melt so quickly
as if on command,
feeling the pull
of its simple charms,
like succumbing 
to your arms.