Sunday, July 29, 2012

Cunning Linguist


Evening with you was magical,
the sort that is had
when the presence of your Delight
has taken many sunsets
to transpire.
I sat quietly,
feet to the stars.
My patio, imbued with the scent
of Honeysuckle in bloom,
the warmth and humidity
of a summer rain.
Listening.
The song of cicadas in whispering,
"kiss her ...
    kiss her ...
       kiss her ..."
Lids lowered,
limbs lengthened
in anticipation. 
Your lips met mine,
and infused me
with your
life.
"kiss her ...
    kiss her ...
       kiss her ..."
My lips met yours,
and savored
the
nature
of
me.