*Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
dancing ecstatic,
swaying hypnotic,
sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.*
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
*Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
dancing ecstatic,
swaying hypnotic,
sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.*
