Free Verse # 194 (love’s burning loaves)

In the wild beauty of your face
My poem takes root
Then rises,
Her branches shading
The world’s garden,
Her fruits
Upon every lip.

~

The gift of silence –
I open inward,
fill with endless stars.

~

Do I hide your voice inside my ribs, you whose breath permeates the marrow of the world?

~

Graft your poem
into my veins
and watch my face become
the fountain of your grace.

~

Caressing her skin
the moonrays glow red
then glide through her curves,
a warm, crimson wine.

~

Night silently descends
and your song,
like the evening star,
unfolds within my heart.

~

Her gift –
a sickle moon
to harvest poetry’s wheat,
a stone-wheel of stars
to grind them,
and the sun’s kiln to bake:
love’s burning loaves.

~

The dance that defies all limits, breaking us ever deeper into the growing womb of love.

~

Her kiss is the only poem I’ve ever known.

~

My heartbeats
in night’s silence –
dewdrops falling
to the pond of your face.

~

I shall always have about me the scent of the fallow fields and the profound solitude of dawn.

~

Eternity itself is but a tributary of love’s boundless river.

~

Like gentle rain
caress my skin,
parched and cracked
in the desert of longing.

~

What is this being human if not a caravan of memories roving amid the desert dunes of life.

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