johncoyote

Your call
Like few birds atop the bundle
Of rosemary.
Blush to divine cheeks,
Bliss to lips of splendor,
Adorned in what reddens the sky
By a dress,
Wrapping your thin figure
In strands that weave the night.

I give gravity
To your fall,
Allowing sentence
To my arms,
Long with the moon
Of its discolored rays,
Dropping its singular eye
Upon you,
With rows of ashen kisses.

Dress yourself,
Deep divinity,
In something more plentiful
Than ample strands and peaceful stares.
As the passion bites,
As the music surrounds
Of sighs
Among great calls, to the heated aura
Of what love duly finds.

Place peace
In the current,
Throw passion
Beneath,
To hold a sound
Upon your nectar lips.