An ordinary morning: as she wakes

still dressed in last night's evening clothes

 she turns, remembering

whatever she had conjured, heat or dust

the half draped mirrors of her home

in revery transformed

 

and turns to me, whose fever all night warmed

 whatever she conceived within

her solitary dream

ice blossomed forests, shorelines, cobalt seas

 figures across a fallen bridge

expecting whispered words

 

from me, invoking flourishes of birds

as prologue, while uncovered skin

renews our harmonies

as I reveal every secret rose

her body o fers, touch the ridge

outside her slender hips

 

caress the lavender between her lips

my voice fades to a quiet stream

feeding a gentle lust

and while my fingers, slowing, lightly comb

 her trembling warmth, she starts to sing

just as the long wave breaks.

 

Art: Lisa Cihlar, Watercolor on Card, 2022