'neath the willow
A poet's verse swept away by the gale,
sighted years past upon a mead, on a treasure trove trail...
'neath the marquee of the willow he lay;
Spray crystals of gold with crimson petals
Of her cold lips, brushing the heat of his skin;
Her white gossamer gown curtains his eyes in a flimsy claim.
Sunlight and undulating shadows dancing on his pale frame.
As she's shielded in his yearning embrace,
His heart aflame with ardor against his breast.
Lines of her soft ivory his fingers traced,
The winnowed wisps of a cloud, they shivered.
Rank emotions within him quivered,
Drooping his head, crown of dark curls against her lily bosom;
He removed the wreath of white roses from her hair.
Scattering scarlet on the velvet green,
He fanned them out wide; and the languid afternoon air sighed.
The waves upon the river, they rose and swell;
Then fell into a silent gleam.
Fingers furled around each crease;
Lacy patterns drawn of her ruffled hem upon the breeze.
For Giorgio Veneto's contest : "Impress Me II!"
Written by : gautami phookan