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By Rhetoric Date: 2001 Sep 06 Comment on this Work [[2001.09.06.15.11.157]] |
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Lapping moon drops from falling nights, I inhale lust from long forgotten hours. We dance, while a silvery spray lights out feet. Paths of bluish gold ignite the stolen moments to come. Whisper-soft halos engulf warm, agile bodies. We are children in a garden of play. Shoulders are bold mountains, torsos become valleys of worship. The swell of the light navigates to our bodies, our Souls. Droplets of dew bathe skin with liquor from the gods. Soon, the night moon wanes and time to return to harsh solar wishes nears. The garden awaits fanciful children with luminous eyes and tender skin. |