Poem

Poem

Two birds beaking in a summer morning's dream hill strewn

with roses and perfect music in a white kite

lush fruits wings

and that girl who could make me a man desiring her in bliss

Moving through the always of her hair I love her.

With a gentleness

that she won't disclose she lifts my soul and brings me

to the eternal garden.

Here she glows with the soft language of sex and takes me

through the straight road of love.

Where her breasts are peace and her lips powerful fresh flowers.

At night the sweat and pure kingdom in her navel.