At the Foot of Volcano

The hand that silently paints this world.. the hand that wordlessly wrote the Poetry of each sunrise and sunset seizes the pen that writes… and gently demands we put it away. What She writes.. we can only observe on bended knee.

When his finger moves.. the body stirs with aching need of his touch… knowing the heart only exists in the touching. Stirred into awakening.. the cavernous walls shake… rattling bones and sinew to the terrifying cry of love.