Here we are with wildflowers rising; seeming  
as weeds to the causal eye  
that is, until the time comes for them to bloom, 
the air is pungent with scent 
and memory serves to glide across flawlessly, 
this is no coincidence, 
all fragrance irrefragably leads to him, 
I don’t desire anything else, so I inhale a bit more. 

He gazes from across the tinted glass and smiles, 
perhaps, he is aware of fume of sighs  
that percolates, 
slowly, stretching as the sky does when it wishes 
to say things, 
I have had poems melt in my mouth before 
but this is something entirely different, 
darkly enticing and dangerous at the same time. 

How do I describe him now?  
There seem to be no words to describe  
honey-like tone,  
as peaches and melons,  
his full, sensuous lips both speak and hold 
sentences,
sometimes gently moistening my shore, 
I crave his voice,  
argosy of dark hair that tumble across  
the forehead, 
when days seem hectic, 
I want to write sonnets, describing curve of 
his mouth in early morning, 
if not in person, then in paperback. 

I won’t say anything else, only that thunder 
occurs in nether regions, 
this affogato affair has put me on the edge, 
I wonder, if he can sense soul that  
has spilled itself onto the page– 
allow me to love, in ebony shadows  
and amber daybreak both, 
time is fleeting 
and season’s chaotic precision is swallowing 
me whole, 
it’s rather beautiful, the way everything 
is falling into place; 
all fragrance irrefragably leads to him,
for passion, such as this never rests— this is
just the beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Credits: Pinterest 

Posted for Open Link Night #356 (with Live Edition) @dVerse Pub