His smile is a compass
Or lighthouse that guides me home
A permanent road where I’m free to roam
All enemies who enter he’ll crush
When I’m lost and all alone
I feel a sudden gentle brush
And smell a scent not like cologne
My senses ignite like a gold rush
He stands there like a stone
Fully aware he’s on his throne
My voice once loud now hush
Who needs flowers when your cheeks are flush
© Delia Ross. 2019
