His spirit beckons
 different than the rest. 
 It pulls 

 like the white light
 of an August moon. 
 I am a coral meadow 
 bulging from the ocean floor,
 cool seawater drenched 
 in a sting of brine, a cove 

 whose sand is 
 coarse and simple. 
 He siphons cold dark
 winters from my deepest 
 waters, he bathes me 
 in the incense
 of his skin. 

 My flora opens 
 like oleander blossoms
 after rain, to the colors
 of his fire sky. 






révisé
08.06.01/07.11.02
M Madison