The sky was a fabric of cloud cover.
The threadbare heaven was covered
In moth-ridden holes with frayed edges.
Stringy clouds, as if the loose openings,
With a ratty-tatty weave created a gauze
Of tangled threads.

Her little belly glows.
It pulsates with anticipation
Waiting, listening for my voice.
Eager to please should I have need.
When I am at rest she hears my breath,
And waits for me to speak so she can please.
Her little light interrupts my sleep at times
But she is there bright and early
To make sure that everything is fine.  I say,
Well, thanks to you need to go back to sleep,
You little busybody creep!

Wrapped in a gossamer bag
Translucent and light
Shimmering with many threads

Finely woven together.
Your gold to my silver
Will forever hold our love.

Cultivated soil
Rich in love
That first seed
Planted
We will never
Be the same

With a soil
So rich
We plant again
Our harvest
Was precious
As we reaped

This fruitful
Field of ours
Thus became
Complete
We will never
Be the same

We are a garden

Her lips, like cherries,
Strawberry is spread
throughout her hair.
Pools of Saphire
Sparkle in her large eyes.
She is budding
From childhood into beauty.
Her ******* are blooming,
Fragrant roses.
She will walk on strong legs
With widening hips
Into the domain of men,
Where they will sigh
Quietly inside, and
She will hold every gaze
As she becomes queen
To some king.

I see your sunlight
Through clouds
Before I see a sun

I smell your rain
Before I see it
Falling on flowers

I see the greening
Of leaves and grass
As you bloom, and

I wonder, what else
Do you hold out
In wonder for me

The voice of nightfall
Calls.
I listen in the dimming light.

All is softened by it.
Eyes strain.
Change is never easy.

The beauty engulfs me
As I adapt
To a new realization

With each new night.
I open
To its wonder.