Desire
Speak to me of smoke
that dwells in the center
of your rising, heated smell
tasting all the rippled syrup
dwelling on a mouth wide as the
ocean's borders,
here is the point where I meet
your hand warm as soft bread
readily toasted
with cinnamon of your eyes,
then to run with the wind
made from flowers come Spring.
I find the coal of love heating
the air around us while on your
palm's creases lie my fate
as my desire for your gentleness
is one among many who
wants to share your flame.
Copyright © Noel Onat | Year Posted 2013
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