Like the ardent afternoon’s sun, taken
And scattered, sprinkled across the seas expanse
Reflecting in a thousand glowing fractions,
the crests of tiny waves, your smile.
A springtime meadow dotted with
Wildflowers, numerous and diverse, unique
Shades of color, all shining in warm sunlight.
A light breeze, a zephyr, lifts the hair from your shoulders
And plays the charming locks into the air, the strands
Gliding peacefully in the wind, music in motion,
Like notes escaped off the page, tossed
Gently about in the current.
The reddest of roses, robust, its pedals
Fitted so perfectly to one another, one rose pressed
Amongst twelve, a burgundy burst of elegance,
The deep-staining red striking. Or perhaps just a letter,
Everything I want you to know printed, the
collection of my inner thoughts and embarrassed
Attempts to do no more than just be with you.
The fire’s flickering fingers, old joints cracking,
The flame of passion, keeps me warm through the night
And functions as a beacon of hope – for I need hear no more
Than the utterance of thy name and the
fire in the lighthouse of hope is rekindled,
hope that land is near.