Something is out of place.
Something inherently
molecular within her
myogenic wilderness:
a modesty, an awareness,
the visible manifestation
of her shyness.
It contracts.
It tones.
It colors her
openly,
just as the sky.
Involuntary,
just as stimuli.
There's something new
about this face.
Something awakened.
Something lovestruck
and silly.
For what else
could exert such
a dilator mechanism,
in all its deliciousness?

Gentle whispers on a breezy eve
Past the amber trees and leaves
In the cloudless meadow by the brook
Planted firmly inside a hollowed nook
It’s there I dare to seek out dreams
And eye the fish that swim upstream
I watch in awe
As they persevere
And reflect on all I hold most dear