She hides waterfalls
behind her eyes
The taste of oasis
between her lips
Her ******* are a valley
of delights
Sun caressed cliffs
form her thighs
The wide skies hang
beneath her brow
southern cotton fields
clothe her golden soft skin
while oceans east swirl
at her curls and curving hips
the harvests ripe upon her lips
and if one asks me, “who is she?”
I reply,
“She’s my world, can’t you see…”

The stories we live
are bound beneath
the covers of land and sky
and the days in between
are the pages
from hello to our goodbye
Each turning sun
brings a new day
closer to the hour
Where all good things
must come to a close
when death holds the power
We scratch our name
in the dirt and dust, till wind
blows away existence
leaving behind
scraps of our mind
and fragments of our presence
To toil much and embed a mark
only in soiled strife
is vanity to have had a name
not etched in the book of life

Winter, one night, came to visit me
It sat in the chair opposite me
In a dark room it blew a chill over me
Ripped the cover right off me
Naked and hunched, it mocked me
Then fell in love with summer and left me