In Time She Wakes
In time she wakes; I, the the sun, that kisses her face.
No lies or disguise, just the radiant reflection of African skies on the rise in her eyes.
Beauty unmistakable, incredible, unforgettable;
My eyes drink the scene until I'm full.
Her hair, her face, that skin, where to begin?
So smooth the soft surfaces surrounded and swirled in swirling sheets that keeps my amber bright morning light tight in her sight.
She can't quite fight the bite to ignite with all her might.
Yet before the day slips away she'll sway and play in Plettenberg bay.
And from her lips drips the sips from oceans where now sleep the ships and slips of men that crashed and smashed from sirens singing and calling out their longing and wanting so haunting - the sound spilling from that same coy style of a Mona Lisa smile.
She wants to linger on but horizons blue, orange, yellow and red hint of bed instead it must be said.
Soon to the night she'll wed but before that rest she shares her shape in shadows on the shore.
A dance does she once again as I gaze with the last blaze of my rays across the waves,
until again, through the morning haze, I'll wake her just to see her eyes kiss the skies that light up from the light in my eyes.
For she is my earth, my world, my purpose, I am her sun.
This breathing circle, this vision, no dark nightly dream would it seem could ever forever our helix make undone.