Dressed like the new bride,
your coy, saccharine breath
walks gently on the aisle of my arms,
cooing a lullaby-
to pacify the passionate night of storm
"Sleep, my precious"-
Words sprout and wilt,
and fade into the music of your breath
More tender than a kiss,
I call it my own diva of the dawn
I think I have tasted that saccharine breath when she
ReplyDeletecame dangerously too close .
Love the imagination .
Some poets dance with words Quite rhythmically.