Free Verse # 200 (her body, his landscape)

Poetry from her eyes escapes
as sparks from the bonfire,
an infinitely minute taste
of her boundless desire.

~

With her brush every star she wields,
Then stroking, gently,
Paints the canvas of the night
Into a poem burning bright.

~

Her body was the landscape
where all his memories
lived and perished,
where his every seed
became flower then fruit
then poetry.

~

No word could utter
the depth of his longing,
so every word
on the altar of silence
perished into poetry.

~

To read a poem one must write it again, only this time in blood-letters and upon the pages of one’s heart.

~

Night—another name for her hair as it shadows the earth.

~

Embracing her skin
the night mist melts
into cool, pure dew,
in endless streams gathers
and through her curves flows,
morning songs, poetry.

~

Let it burn on your tongue
this drop of honey
which your bees have suckled
from my flesh,
the garden of poetry.

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