Saturday, April 13, 2013

The skinny pines, the ripeness of the peach

The skinny pines, the ripeness of the peach
and the backs of her thighs. I see a new sign
and symbol in the twilight and the teaching
of a prior scripture baffles me. The pines
are tall and thin, the stretching of their lines
fills out the horizon. Beloved, the white sand
and blue water are the resplendent shrine
in which we worship: look how high the grand
cathedral rises! I gaze through the strands
of her dark hair and across her moistened lip
as she whispers something. The trees demand
the faith of the Sun when my beloved slips
between my fingers. I can't help but blurt
out poetry that is the nonsense of hearts.

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