satisfaction

my eyes see your face and they dancemy nose smells your scent and it smilesmy ears hear your voice and they singmy fingers touch your face and they laughmy tongue tastes your flesh and it weepsthese senses are but diminutive partsof the greater parcel which is carriedby my metaphorical heartthat place that we writersand poetshave for eons and eonsclaimed to be the center of emotional landscapesbut we all know senses lie and deceiveso what is it that i have done hereperhaps it is as simple as making a choiceto give myself to someonewho i believe deserves my serviceso the flowery words flowthe playful games of romance happenand yet deep inside it is not an emotional responsethat satisfies the spiritit is not the sexual congress or the election of hierarchyit is the choices, the decisions we makeand then decide to stand bylean upon my arms when you are weakfor i shall hold you up until your feetcan moverest your weariness upon my strengthuntil your mind is clearagaini know you read these wordsand they strike deep wounds when sharpthey also soothe and healwhen softi do have hope, eternallythat all things turn outas they shall in the end.