Everything you say with your hands takes root in my body and grows so deeply that the sea seems shallow under the glare of the summer sun. Something new blooms in me everytime you touch me, as grand as the garden that we planted together, fearless of getting our hands dirty. Your lips enrich me like soil, from where the vines and the sunflowers reach up to the window and embrace the light which flows through your eyes as you kiss me good morning with all the warmth and freshness of a breeze blowing her promise that follows us through the seasons as surely as the perennials will grow again next spring.



Filed under Poem, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

4 responses to “Perennials

  1. Dearest C, Only You. Only you can write something like this and it melts from the screen, whitewashing everything else and turning it opaque and rendered irrelevant. you have that powerful voice that doesn’t have to shout to be heard, but infiltrates your being with deft step and stays like a new tattoo. If they looked under my skin i think they would find your words, that’s how far you go each time your firey mind shares with us.

    Liked by 1 person

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