Flawless, the curve of your lips, your
unafraid tongue on the cusp of mine,
I savour the way your words undress
doubt, dissipating with decisive force.
Peony in the sky delineates nothing
is against pink, I’ll shape your desire
percolate through language of soul.
Yours is the only poem I ache to write
as waves crash upon a sky gone grey,
let us breathe in the scent of unquiet
dreams, anticipate spring delayed by
Photo credits: Wassily Kandinsky 1932
Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads