Pulsing with love.
Strips my mask.
Praises my soul.
Strokes my ego.
But keeps me humble.
She is light.
Pure,
True.
She cradles my head,
When it is heavy with sorrow.
Her Whispers are the wind,
That whisks away my dark clouds.
More addictive than breathing.
And sweeter than the first
Breath
Drawn into
My lungs.
My tribute to her barely scratches
The surface, though.