Thank you for your perfect creation
with skin as soft and pale as the moonlight,
the bones beneath her skin tangling an rearranging,
rising along the iliac crest, and dipping into the clavicles.

Thank you for the RYHTYM of her movements
curling
sprawling
Her contours lapping like waves around the BLANKETS

She is yours.
She is perfect.
a TEMPLE
with hair spiling over her temples

Pressed against her
I can hear ETERNITY--
hollow, lonely spaces and
currents that churn
ceaselessly,

And the fallen snow
welcomes the falling snow
with a whispered "HUSH".

 - "Blankets", Craig Thompson