Flesh married to bones

Free from doubt

are endearments of my very survival

and the sunrise that like rose bud blossoms

inside your eyes into mature fancies

from which full of sweat I belly crawled

to mesmeric delivery of you,

the hot water over my raspberry tea bag.

Forest fruits deliquesced,

seeds bustling inside sweet-smelling puddles

splashing and serenading

under balconies rollicking

with youth on rabbit's paws.

Compunction from the past

is overwhelming like a disease,

direct injection inside the polaroid of recapture

two hummingbirds

and a summertide rapture

enamored by a quiet thrill,

two emotions standing fixed

like wild chervil on a windless day.

My flesh is married to your bones,

your muscles are my growing thrones,

I am lifted once again

upraised like a colossus, waiting for your visits

to be as often as a breath,

craving the future

where distance is measured

by just a blink.

Birthed by fire,

we were raised by the rivers,

suspiring the shivers, that adorned

our cumbersome words

into baldachin from the moonshine.

Dedicated.

© 2010. Tihana Novosel