Archive
08/31/10 - (2)
Sunday in the Garden
We spent the essence of Sunday's endless yesterwhen Lost in each other, to each other, forever, In the chiaroscuroed coverts of the English Woodland Garden,
Sitting on the enormous steppingstone Bridging the slender, singing stream weaving past, In its cascading passage to the Japanese Garden, beneath us.
You dipped your right hand in its meandering flow, Rubbed its water slowly, sensuously, over and over, Into your thirsting thighs, knees, feet, and toes,
As though doing so were nourishing your whole body, Awakening your yearning soul If not with a godly balm, with immediacy itself,
Our beings' need to commune with each other, Touching, feeling, incorporating our surroundings, Acknowledging our presence in this sacred, secluded space.
Then, gently, I reached into the warm stream And anointed your lips, with its mellifluous, salvific lyrics, Knowing you'd hum its song to me all evening long.
08/31/10 - (2)
|
|||
|
|||
