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The Fingerprint ©

Paul Murdoch
Alexandria, Scotland
2004

What god has let you slip from their fingers?
A statue honed by angels.
Regal, elegant; sensuality wrapped in ivory, your heavenly form, resplendent.
Auburn strands of twilight dance upon your slender shoulders,
Tease your silken breasts.
Your sleepy eyes still laugh and taunt me.
They sparkle like diamonds in a night-filled moment.
Drawn in, I die, then breathe again.
A fingerprint; a sign of grace is etched upon your cheek.
A mark, a splash of beauty; so noble.
Your ruby lips drip bloodstone tears and smile at fate and chance.
They dance upon my collar then hold me.
What trick of fate has placed you here, to melt my resolute heart?
Entrenched and once so steadfast.
Enrich my life, if only for one second,
Hold me in your spell.
I'll savour every moment, then face the gates of hell.
What use is breath without you?
What waste of time is this?
A seraph kissed by beauty.
No soul can take your place.


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