Free Verse # 340 (on her lips the full moon)

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Rooted in Love

She held his poem
against her belly,
pressed into her naval
like a fiery seed being sown
in the womb of the earth.


On her lips
the full moon
a wild flower


Two in appearance; in reality one light, one body, one soul.


Wrapped in the silk
of a thousand dawns
she comes to me
and I unwrap her
one dawn at a time,
her ineffable essence,


I’m not a poet
I am a perfume maker,
in the oil of her skin
I dip my brush
then paint her,
a burning fragrance,


On the nourishment
of your skin I subsist
the way a butterfly
dips and dips
into the heart of the flower,
her tremulous sea of poetry.


Of all my yearnings
only one remains…
red flower on her lips


In the quiet of my heart
your flower grows…

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daydreams are wonderful!


A daydream is a meal at which images are eaten. Some of us are gourmets, some gourmands, and a good many take their images precooked out of a can and swallow them down whole, absent-mindedly and with little relish. — W. H. Auden

fruit watercolor by Salvadore Dali

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