Though hazel eyes already led me in, <br />ventured the unexplored, <br />found the undiscovered, <br />a virtuoso left hand brushed my ear <br />on its way to the nape <br />but not before I kissed a scented wrist- <br />berries, I think- <br />while the harmonious right <br />began from rest on tricep, <br />down the rib cage, <br />to small of the back <br />and pulled me to her, the both of them. <br /> <br />Before last rites ask me to confess <br />sins to someone there yet barely known, <br />I would not think it wrong to keep <br />this moment between but us and God, <br />or selfishly keep it as my own. <br />For what good could come that the soul repent? <br />Quivering lips, joined in subtle nod, <br />were asked of nothing but whispered, “yes”. <br /> <br />Then, now, and when I forever sleep, <br />if ever was a thing in me divine, <br />a hazel-eyed maestro, the soul’s resident, <br />lives in a place that is only mine. <br />I do not see her as one of many sins, <br />but more like where a heavenly life begins.<br /><br />Matthew Zeller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maestro-3/
