Birth Days

The clouds parted, Like the pursed lips of desire. Brushed aside by fingers of wind. Fondled by the rays of the late afternoon sun. Blue sky lay revealed, Blemishless as the thighs of a Virgin. Endless, exposed, waiting, As the seeds of night approached. Purple satin shards awash, In remnants of tangerine orange, Bleeding into the moments, Full of potential. A dome of stained glass, Pricked by starlight, Frosted with moon light, Frothy in the bliss of release.