My melancholy turns to gold dust
in your soft and tender hands
upon your fingers I scatter my life
my love remains clasped in your hands
now I am a vial of cologne, emptied...
I yearn to see your lissome creeper
how it clings to cracks on the walk
well, just as it entwines the cement altar
Mi amor, that is how I yearn to embrace your heart
I used to stumble, now I am sustained in you...
This night I yearn and sigh for you
to see you sleep, hands on your chest
sinking into our bed like rosy fruit
from smooth pastures into the depths of our mattress
as the air enters your chest and raises it chastely...
Amante, steal away to me in the night
we will see how peacefully the moon rays
create quiet waves without unsettling the hush
just as it passes into the gulf is the way
I yearn to sink to the very bottom of your soul...
Fly to me from your snow white orchards
you love is ever so immaculate
my naked soul will tremble in your hands...
Copyright © Ken Carroll