the edge

suspended, dangling,
limbs akimbo, gangling,
in the New York City moments
before an orgasm,
looking down, sharply,
into the maw of a yawning chasm;
I stand here,
and the reality
of your majesty,
overwhelms me,
and feeling a little numb,
I succumb to the nascent reality
that I have been rendered mute,
but not deaf or dumb;
and I slide, I fairly glide
into a bliss in that abyss,
that passes for a thrill ride,
and on that sharp descent,
I abide, but only loosely,
as my arc takes me closely
to the burning center
of You, where I must enter,
and meet my destiny;
O my darling,
how Your spirit
captivates me,
eternally.



September 13, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.