Of Roses and Flame
I've waited long for your touch.
My skin grows dry and cracked,
a plain of mud scorched by the sun.
Your fingers spash upon
me like the rain,
filling all the cracks.
You're flowing through and over me,
like a ripple on an endless sea
or the scent of roses woven into the breeze.
I feel you when you're far away
like the gentle warmth from a vibrant flame
reaching out to touch my face.
Softly comes your voice,
like the setting of the sun,
or the gentle rustle of velvet sheets.
A whisper and a kiss
beneath the rising stars
greet the coming of the night.
Your eyes imbrue me with a light
that wraps me in the softest white,
like stars with silver paint the night.
Copyright 2011 by Dan Bach.