Photo by Evgeny Nelmin on Unsplash

I am nothing to your loveliness,
empty vessel,
meant for this.

Nothing holding,
offering all,
I yearn so til I’m full…

If all I was could be for you,
yet all I’m not
is what makes room:

your touch my life,
your breath my soul,
your rain and wind my essence;

your sound my pulse,
your scent my joy,
my every sense for incense…

Poet; writer of imaginative fiction; lover of works of ancient wisdom and myth, explores the intersection of wisdom, poetry and imagination. Follow @CaelanRowan

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