Archive
04/05/12 - (2)
Insinuations
The brisk breeze, twin to a scintillatingly chilling fall wind, Insinuates Central Park, with intimations of rebirth. Spring sings its fecund melodies into our eyes. Our skin dances to the blossoming of ballerinas, Whose petals are diaphanous tutus Decorated in red, purple, pink, white, and yellow hues. Our ears envision the flowering of Earth's first worship of life.
On the Bow Bridge, overlooking Loeb Boathouse, We slow our walk, let our breath catch up with our strides, And wait, for what seems a ceaselessly coalescing moment, For time to find an opening, in its tight schedule, Through which our love might escape, take flight. In a face-to-face embrace with nature, our lips, tongues kiss. The brisk breeze insinuates existence, with our spirits.
04/05/12 - (2)
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