Curves
The arc of her back
Revealed in alabaster
Carved by the moonlight
The arc of her back
Revealed in alabaster
Carved by the moonlight
Rising from my tea
White threads of heady vapor
Clear the dross of sleep
A lazy Sunday
You, dozing on the white couch
Lovely as ever
We walk the worn paths
Of an unexplored landscape
The first of many
The crook of my arm
Cradling ebony silk
Purring in my ear
Old memories found
In the back of the closet
Hiding in the gloom
In our bed, half asleep
The years of comfort found in
The space between us
In the lone white oak
A solitary squirrel
Calls out for its mate
In a copse of trees
Entwined in vines, a slowly
Rusting tricycle
A desert reborn
As rain coalesces and
Falls to the parched earth