It starts with curves,
half moon curves,
demure reposing curves.
The wind blows; it tickles,
butterfly kisses, the blinking of a doe.
Spring willow rippling dews in her eyes,
the river of life.

A glimpse of her sight
sets a myriad sparkles of sapphire night
for I know she is both day and night
gaze and daze at her never-ending horizon I strive
for the unfathomable depths of her light
there, lies the secret place,
the primordial mystery of a heart's delight,
the gift of life.

Little bud
rosebud
tiny soft and naked
waiting for spring
at times it seemed
you would fit into my hand
with one clasp I encompass
your entire being
and I would smell and taste
your sweet disorienting scent

So stilled my hand
with each breeze and each breath
waited for the perfumed brush
a scented sting on my skin
in an ancient language
I knew it was futile to translate or resist

Passing by
a poised snail without its shell
in a garden where boisterous children play
in a world without a map
a dew drop
I look up
there goes a comet without its tail

Autumn is a mistress who wears her luscious locks
of golden hair brushed softly against her siren lips.
Discreetly she comes, unannounced she goes.
She speaks not.  Yet,
A mere glare of her golden hues
and pouting of her flaming reds,
she saturates the color of my heart.