A summer day, whose heat belied
its overshadowed sky, enveloped in a
variegated green rolling from one
landscape to the next,
and in a madified mound framed
the moment where I divined
that you and I - we -
are a pair.
So dead and dry those lifeless blades
of grass, when compared to that of your
exposed shoulder,
that the torn grass could scarce
forbid our youthful hearts to know
that our neanic bond
outshadowed
natures dearth.
Which severed stump?
Which wooly verge could ever demean the joys of Venus' domain.
That day I could taste the droplets
of your name on my lips, as I
exhaled; its wide-mouthed prefix
swam towards my joining lips
pushing together in unison
before lengthy sigh
had my tongue crashing
against the roof of my mouth,
stretching out the last sound,
impossibly as it was not to smile in ecstasy.
"Begin again!", I heard
your heart skip a beat. When whispered
your three syllables recall
bleak days when no-one had sounded them at all.
The hearts of men, of women,
of beasts and birds
cannot survive bereft of loving words.
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