Free Verse # 337 (witchcraft in her lips)

Into the ashes of the night
she presses her full lips
leaving a trail of aching stars

~

Her stretching spine
a violin-river,
the world dancing
to its quiver,
shivering in ripples
of music and rhyme.

~

Void of your breath
poems are just words,
dust scattered
in the blowing wind.

~

Of existence
all I know is your kiss,
the moon on your lips poised,
the fountainhead of stars.

~

She had witchcraft in her lips
and my poem ached for the sheathing
of their succulent plush

~

Earth of rain and mist
I remember you,
a touch of infinite softness
melting in my skin.

~

Tracing her skin
his fingers etch furrows
of liquid fire,
poems into her bloodstream
weeping
his aching love.

~

On my lips
her breasts
fruits of passion,
a fervent wine.

~

Night waxes
as your body against my own
shivers,
a flame in my blood
weeping
the ache of centuries,
crowning us the flower
of wine and poetry.

~

Photograph by Ian Ross Pettigrew

In the fire of your eyes
poetry sheds her veils
and enters wordless,
its one desire to live
rooted in your heart.

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