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My Love
The soft flutter of her eyes
Pulls the sun
From its starry bed.
Then, it follows her;
Thus, the morning doth rise.
And the day's blooms
Look to her
Dreaming of beauty
As they prepare their ruse
But then a lower place assumes.
And the wind
Caresses and cools her,
But dares not linger
As it would never leave
And ne'er another leaf bend.
Then, when naked skin
And silken sheet meet
The sun can rest and dream again,
The bloom regain her strength,
And the wind suffer the long night without and within.
