Free Verse # 284 (finding the poet)

My fingers in her hair
a wind in the forest
playing amid the trees,
strumming her branches
into a floral cascade
on bare shoulders splashing

~

Passing shadows –
from the essence of form
a dark flower blooms,
her black scent
diluting all boundaries
in the heady source of light.

~

 So much passion spilled
on the altar of her
whose name is ocean,
whose eyes are sky,
whose face is the stillness
of dawn over the sea.

~

Finding the poet –
a flower becomes a star,
then a moon,
then vanishes in his heart.

~

Her body is made for worshipping ~
with every kiss I unfold
a flower in her skin
and a freckle made of wine
shining like a purple star.

~

As through a poetry book
he leafed through her skin
and the poems flowed in streams
of a dark purple wine

~

Heady with his wine
she tilted her head
and her body curved,
a wheat-blade
in the moonlight,
a samurai sword
slashing the wind
and cutting through
his very heart.

~

I expect your kiss
to graze my skin
as though you were clouds
drifting through the skies,
ever slowly, deeper and deeper engulfing me
in the billowing bank of white.

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