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
his aching love.


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


Night waxes
as your body against my own
a flame in my blood
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.


7 thoughts on “Free Verse # 337 (witchcraft in her lips)

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