Tulips
Peering through Venetian blinds, I consider
How soft kisses on a cool spring morning
Touch satin petals pooling dew from within
The moist breeze into their shimmering flutes,
As the weighted drops drift and gather and
Pour away into the slow rising of the sun
By way of gentle breath warming, caressing
Their slender stems and upward willowy leaves
Swaying, dancing in the wind stationary
In sandy beds. Then! In a sudden embrace,
Blushing. With hands laid on, soft kisses
Press the polished skins and drink their wines
In farewell passions and sparkling variegation;
Yet, their bodies are green, unhidden, burning
In the full sun; the unkown one disappears,
And I in that agony draw the strings, retire the day.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2006
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