Monday, August 10, 2009

Life along the river looms
Blood red, phallic blooms,
White blossoms like tender lips,
Others with milky tips
On French manicured petals painted pink.
Thirsty, lapping, rhythmic waves drink
The banks, covered in rooted greens,
Beautiful, tall, wheat-like weeds.
The river dances under mild summer glows
To a musical breeze, plays lively, then slows.
Vines, bushes, thorns approach my toes at rest,
A tiny invader seeks shade of my breast
Though small; he needed no invitation
To invade. I gladly return a mild flirtation
To glorious Picasso and Onassis,
Silver kisses flash across the surface
Of their leaving me wake,
And the sun begins to take
Notice of my existence,
My skin burns at its insistence.
I stand to leave; sweat trickles
Down my back, my chest, cool tickles.
My mouth inhales the river’s wet
Drops, tongue knows taste of its bed.
Clouds spread a wide exit, as if to say
“To fully treasure this, you cannot stay.”

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