It was cooler on the veranda.
Below us a guitar translated the dark.
Orchids unrolled their purple tongues
to arbor the moonlight.
We had quarreled earlier
I wanted to tie you to bedposts
and savour you with a speechless mouth,
to hear only you
and not my rough words.
I lowered my head in your lap.
Someone was singing about the sea;
the way the sea cries for the kiss of the shore,
how the sand runs to be drowned -
we both understood.
You went to lie on the bed.
Later, sangria washed salt from our lips,
while sea paths flowed.
~~
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Rita Bourland
heidibeth
Dr. Spudman44
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Brazen Princess
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