“Do you want to play?”/When she bowed her head/
to cry like others had, I/
thought I had hurt her.
I would weave you a/
poem; a word blanket that would/
hold you safe and warm.
Gazing at her golden hairI float in the sunset,
and lay there, half submerged;
half warmed by sun, half cooled with wet;
harmonizing breathing and chirping birds.
An hummed experience of oohhmmm that was new.
A sung peace that tuned my innermost core.
The harmonic returns again as I view
her golden-toned decoutage’ once more.
She somehow can carry within her calm face
the memories and tones of another peaceful place.
When and how do I/
Let her know that I’m letting/
her go as she asked?
My glad face smeared with/The corn long-ago/
harvested, I got a wave/
in the gleaners’ rows.
His soft, tender words/
rained warmly over and in/
her, unexpected.
He hovered, like a/
new-hatched butterfly, over/
her lips’ moist sweetness.
With women it’s wise/
to withhold sonnets but not/
such tasty omelettes.