Far away, a bird sings
a song of spring's sweet arrival
High trills, low moans
Is it yearning for love,
or desperate for renewal?
Suddenly, his fingers find mine through
green blades and slide
over the back of my hand
A quiet breath escapes my lips
as we sit on dewy grass
But I do not feel moistness
only a warm kindling
in the pit
of my stomach
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
His amber eyes are glowing,
illuminated by the rays
of the afternoon sun
A cool wind brings the scent
of leaves
and all else that is spring
Brings his arms like a blanket
rubbing away goosebumps
spread on my skin
And somehow the sun
warms my spine enough
to seep in me
a morsel of courage
a slight turn of the face
a nervous murmur
And then I can taste
spring on his lips.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
Far away, a bird sings
a song of spring's sweet arrival
High trills, low moans
Is it yearning for love,
or desperate for renewal?
Suddenly, his fingers find mine through
green blades and slide
over the back of my hand
A quiet breath escapes my lips
as we sit on dewy grass
But I do not feel moistness
only a warm kindling
in the pit
of my stomach
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
His amber eyes are glowing,
illuminated by the rays
of the afternoon sun
A cool wind brings the scent
of leaves
and all else that is spring
Brings his arms like a blanket
rubbing away goosebumps
spread on my skin
And somehow the sun
warms my spine enough
to seep in me
a morsel of courage
a slight turn of the face
a nervous murmur
And then I can taste
spring on his lips.
