He Is Me
I breathe him and drink him in, as perfected as age-old scotch;
by Christine K. Trease
he is the burning that sustains my inner light.
I feel him on my skin and smell him in the air.
He surrounds my life like the early morning fog,
impaling my heart, which remains fueled with his warmth,
not made frigid by the chill of the day.
He painlessly rushes through me for we are one.
His residence within me is a comfort, not a pain.
He is my soul, he is my heart, he is me.