The earthen gray
the ash of your mouth
that has made the soil fertile
a garden grows of wanton desire
I will walk between the edge of your lips
taking a step for every man who has passed not in sight
of the burning in the quietest corners where I love you
And I will return my hands with pride to till the fields
that has coloured your hair
that has softened your face
and I will turn my hands
to kiss you when the spring comes with her angry storms
and I will pocket the stone that holds you to me
heavy to my heart