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Saturday Mornings

February 23, 2012

A warmed croissant strategically placed in front a sleeping him on Saturday mornings.  Gentle sun rays shades his face into a golden shimmer.  His nose winces happily.

My beloved is white and ruddy.

His skin is as the most fine gold.

His cheeks are as a bed of spices.

His eyes are as the eyes of doves.

His body is as bright ivory.

His legs are as pillars of marble.

He is altogether lovable.

He’ll never be my beloved.

-Song of Songs

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From → Love

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