Wednesday, May 8, 2013
You switch off the lights
And lie on your bed
While weaving a lonely thread.
I come quiet, slow and silently
Flow on the streams of your mead.
I sit on the darkness the night
Promises, like a closed rose-bud.
As shy to the lips of a lover, yet
Yearning to touch the moist dew
On your skin and yet, tenderly nimble.
My fingers touch the grass on your bosom
And blossom out like morning flowers.
I rain down on your face like a shower
Of bokul -- fragrant and nostalgic of
School summers and choked lectures.
The rain in your eyes shine through my
Forgotten face and reshapes my core of light.
I frame myself as images in dreams
And birds in homeward flight.
I fold my hair in ripples of night
That weaves through your sleep
And rest. I smile a flicker of golden
Flame that shines across your crest.
I find my nook and return to the nest
You built inside your breast.