In Fields of Poppy
For me her dark skin
is a hymn to the night
no such evening
could ever produce
such a sweeter tone
a lovely seduction of light...
A divine pleasure
like a wintry fireside
I burn candles with her
at four O'clock
with shutters closed
curtains flowing to the floor..
When we love
the wind and rain
rage audibly about
her touch and opium kisses
bring the calm of a dove
her mauve lips of grapes...
Losing myself in her ebony eyes
who would strip a rainbow
of it's color
or remove the silver lining
from a cloud?
Should i deny myself
of her lovely flower
just because it is a different color?
she brings a haunting melody in the wind
my labyrinth of desire
laying in fields of poppy...
Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014
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