A poem from the old dusty magic box : - THE MAGIC - TopicsExpress



          

A poem from the old dusty magic box : - THE MAGIC ARCH Nature’s orchestra plays As lips brush together softly Parting gently Leaving only enough space To slide a scented rose petal Between them Hands clasped Fingers facing upwards The sensation of bodies swaying But there is no movement Just souls dancing Whilst two hearts kiss With eyes locked in embrace They transcend the magic arch To caress Nirvana Where dreams come true And rainbow mists clear To leave only, unconditional love. peter Kelly copyright 2011
Posted on: Mon, 31 Mar 2014 21:38:06 +0000

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