Her voice lights my silence
like stars in the womb of night.
Even in a stormy weather
a bird can still be heard singing.
a flame streaming from the palm of dawn,
falling onto the sky.
even your shadow is a beacon to my soul.
Over the wing of solitude I glide,
in my ocean churning honey and wine,
painting the whole sky.
The flower joyfully surrenders
her scent and essence
to the lips that stroke her heart.
An unborn love and yet,
in the thickness of the night
her whisper breezes through my window,
covering me with the warmth of our dawning home.
Her swirling skirt becomes a burning disk,
exuding impassioned rays
as fire seeps liquid like golden honey
over the softness of her thighs.
If the curves of your lips
were the contours of the sky,
then I am a white flower
perched like a sun in the depth of your mouth,
then I am a drop of honey
like a golden moon waxing and waning
as I wander the length of your tongue.