The wait
massages my soul
as I become still.
My breathing
finds a cadence
like a monk in meditation.
In my dream
you pose for me
as your tongue
licks nectar
from petunia buds.
I conjure
florescent shades
unlike those
any artist
can splash
on canvas.
The wait for you
is as near to heaven
as I fathom
I will get
while here on earth.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
The wait
massages my soul
as I become still.
My breathing
finds a cadence
like a monk in meditation.
In my dream
you pose for me
as your tongue
licks nectar
from petunia buds.
I conjure
florescent shades
unlike those
any artist
can splash
on canvas.
The wait for you
is as near to heaven
as I fathom
I will get
while here on earth.
I don't remember if I wrote this after waiting for a hummingbird to come in range of my camera or if I was awaiting my love to return home to me.
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