Genesis
The crescent settled
behind you, wrapped in silk night,
wearing jasmin orange behind her ears.
I wondered: if she overheard
our brewing midnight; could she tell?
From the gleaming stars in my eyes
that I’m nothing if not a sailor
lost in azure, in awe
of treasures shimmering silver.
In the heat of silence, could she hear?
The pounding, quickened steps of
spring, sprinting across time—
Frogs break free from their winter hide,
I hear blushed wings hum
impromptu tunes of perfection, and kisses
that felt like summer grass’s touch.
Sealed, in the envelope
addressed to spring when she catches up.
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