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 May 2017 kelsey bowen
Cristina
Today,
He lacks fear and he dares to love me.
.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
If I was an eagle,
Soaring through skies,
If I was a cloud,
And my inner self dries.

If I was a giant,
Who never hurt flies,
If I was a demon,
With red, behind my eyes.

If I was Benedict Arnold,
Who always told lies,
Would you still love me,
Despite my disguise?
Just a quick write :)
*  Getting closer, to the just bloomed flower
that bewitched him in an instant,
the honey bee gets intoxicated
by the web  of love,
the sweet flower threw around,
it felt more like a gentle caress
to which his heart jumped!
He  starts to do an ecstatic dance,
never thought he could,
till this sweet moment arrived,
merely touching her soft petals
he flies high as if to proclaim his pleasure
buzzing a new tune he composed
for this special moment,
he circles the flower
as if to adore her beauty
form all possible angles
making the moments of love
so special for them both..

* A butterfly enchanted by the flower,next
has a dance of love so different,
he would flit around and hover above
adore her beauty in a more relaxed pace,
he appreciates her silence to his soft declarations,
his love songs have no words, on air written
by the sprightly moves of his colorful wings,
he knows she loves it and his dance tells it all.
Like a kite on the waves of wind, he bobs on air
gently descending,looking at her eyes.

ഇ**  The tailor bird who never misses
mother nature's children all,big and small,
in their myriad ways of loving and living
watches what's going on,
without batting an eye lid,
she has a doubt
"Who among these
  lovers are more intense?"
she thinks aloud.

 The sonorous singer,
Bulbul watching it all
from the hanging branch
of a Champak, flowered in
riotous profusion answers:

ഉ   "Both are poets, no doubt,
of  distinction too,
each of their deeds
spontaneous demonstrates,
with hearts full of love
they wave poetry around us
in ways ingenious
paired with flowers.
why compare them?
Mother nature's brush
dexterous paints each one of us
with such loving care  and kindness
to infuse celebratory spirit,to the world,
never forget that,learn from the bees and butterflies."

— The End —