Perfect Poem by Tsani Jones

I am the monk of her love,
Praying the prayers no others
Can hear,
Feeling the solace no others
Can feel.

She makes me complete.

To whisper her name
In the stillness
Within the dark
Is the unleashing of
Her Tetragrammaton.

She is the eternal rose,
The perfect petal on my own green pond,
A flower none can match
With a mere feeble beauty...
All who try, fail.

She makes me alive.

When I taste her name
On my lips I want
To save it forever,
Enshrine it in the finest gold,
Horde it like the ring from God's own hand.

Her touch is its own
Divine Interventention,
A feeling of true bliss
No matter her weather
That calms every storm in my heart.

She makes love new again.

A kiss from her
Brings the creation of
A new world,
Stops the tick of clocks
And brings the pain of time to its knees.

To hold her is to hold
The very best in life,
To suckle its essence,
Like the sugared end of a
Honeysuckle in our youth.

She makes all perfect and whole.

I can sing her praises,
Talk about her beauty,
Tell you of her love,
Croon of her sweet heart
And how I adore her.

You can listen,
But her heart is my triumph,
Her face is my light,
She is the sun I
Revolve around...

She makes passion real.

I love her like no other,
I can only sing my song,
Write my lyric,
Tell my weary tale,
And you see none of it, powerful like I do.

My heart has always been
United, married, fused
To hers.
She is my Goddess because
She is all of this:

She makes my love's salvation truly mine.

So I walk among life's trees
With my head aloft,
A smile on my lips,
And my heart heals
When I touch hers.

On her worst day,
She is sweeter to my heart than
Any others' best love could be,
On her best,
The Kali Yuga is finished.

She makes life worth every dropp of pain.

She makes our love what it rightly
Deserves to be...

Perfect.