Decorating the Temple of Sweetest Lies

The process of love is a precarious thing.

The thread of fantasy
when deftly woven,
intertwining with reality
as softly spoken
shapes on the tapestry.

The heat of desire,
yet tender sparks,
turn consuming hungry fire
to nascent emotion,
fuel for the heart's beating pyre.

The promise of love,
though ardently given,
shines unbroken from above
as yet unproven
to light the moment's alcove.

The blossom of trust,
a gentle pallet
of brilliant colors, strain to burst
as chaotic comfort
so close the garden of lust.

The trail of a lifetime
can quickly turn.
Beware the oft unseen sign
so cleverly hid
"Entering the place heartache reigns."


Decorating the Temple of Sweetest Lies
by
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