Caressed by moss strewn ivy.
Are my bones
As is the silken earth
Warmed a dawn of watermelon
Above the crespuscullar hum of malt fields
Milked a sea of white peacock
To slowly unfurl your soft fingertips
Weaving but mute olive dreams
Inside my flesh
Upon my Clove tasting neck
Within the shallow straw of a dandelions lucid exhale
Between blades of Sophia & magenta stars
Below the loom of a inked sky
Like a budding branch of willow
As the blooms in sol drenched dew
With sips of honey & raspberry leaf tea
Occupying my womb but a tiny twig of prose
&
Tender wafts of saffron breeze
To touch the rose sutured at my belly button
Like a velvet wisk against my cold mermaid skin
As your palms flutter like starry drops of jupiter along my body
From the edge of my vail
To the cotton strands at the lining of my smock-dress
With my heart frozen to your plush lips
In a tangible remnant of ramkin glassed tongues
Spilling salt upon my raw wounds
Lost in the echo of pain and grief ...