I read dog-eared books of poetry,
sketching fabric lives, in their fashion,
As fate, and fortune . . . elaborately free,
threading my truth in wonders. . .
I trace these stories over your palm,
Lace garlands of fragrant thought for your hair,
bowed with glided joy, and lyrical soul.
Humming. . . intimate, warm into your neck,
I adorn the curve of your ear, with an adoration of ideas,
Treasure, plucked from cradled arms, and lettered gods.
A tango of anticipation, swerve my lilting lips,
A pleasurable, rocking, bobbin lathe of words,
Pleasurable for they journey to your eyes.
As I read for you Cielito,
Tie my verse between two Ceiba trees,
Our serene hammock of swaying contentment. . .
Together, joined in rhythmic discourse,
beneath the heaven of our twilight sky,
known, to only you and I.