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.
0 comments:
Post a Comment