Your Voice

Your voice runs over me as a soft caress,
And warms my heart like a fire burning;
My words stumble my mind becomes senseless,
overwhelmed by this confusing yearning..

Caress me then make my world keep spinning,
Share with me your vision or dream;
Without effort it's my heart you are winning,
However naive this makes me seem.

Dec. 17, 1992

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all poems copywrited by Becky Goodrich
all rights reserved, not to be used without
expressed written consent