Saturday, October 8, 2011

pink spring

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

1 comment:

  1. I think I have tasted that saccharine breath when she
    came dangerously too close .
    Love the imagination .
    Some poets dance with words Quite rhythmically.