From Notes on Song of Songs (#5768)

Wait, listen to me -
   the rain is over, gone.
   You are no longer alone.
   Your eyes an expanse of periwinkle blue.
   Your love stands before you,
   his muscles linden pillars,
   your cheeks flush, unveil
   from dusk to dawn's rosy fingers.

When he comes to you,
   as your temple,
   with the fading light of day -
   your love will be pure saffron
   in a bed of spices,
   his mouth on yours a web of liquid gold.

© susan | chiaroscuro | 9/15/2007