Ripened Rhythms of Cozen Hands

Ripened Rhythms of Cozen Hands

Fever extends the passion with my cozen hands
That burn with your essence and follow every trace
Of your misshapen lips.
In the conga I shall beat my ripened rhythms
And let my iridescence soothe your children of the storm.
I feel your frosty breath shield my face from the ravaged blisters
That blanket my flesh and threaten to tear down my protective walls
With their fire that challenges me to run against the flow of traffic.
Your are my puzzle piece that connects me to this holistic picture
Of love’s warm caresses.
I shall not remain dormant inside this bold chalice,
But instead will emerge from the brisket of my soul
To further bring out the glory that you are, my lord.

Author's Note

What do you think of the prose?

Reviews

[Spit_and_Prayers]

I love reading your poems because you have some of the most beautifully descriptive narratives I've ever read (and I read a lot!). I like the picture this piece paints, but the line "With their fire that challenges me to run against the flow of traffic" seems to me to cross the divide of metaphoric juxtaposition and push the flow of the poem to abruptly to a modern stage, I would suggests remaining in the semi-biblical timeframe you establish in the rest of the piece. All around well written as always though.

[TL Boehm]

Yes, we are to worship God with our bodies. So many forget or don't get celebrating before God. Nicely done.

[Randolf Ramos]

GREat poem, EVery effort that you do is in his name, you are truly blessed!
Things will come easy in your hands to do deeds you may impart. Butterflies are attracted to your soul! That they seek the pheromones scent of your spirit, to be imparted with lights that they seek and long to find.