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Passion
At sun up,
steam rising on the Amazon,
I oared across your river,
pulling on feathers
to reach you.
Following after
along your path,
pushing jungle aside,
and my
oh my
pitter-pat
eyes trailed after
you like puppies.
My shoulders hum at the
vision.
At dusk,
still warm and wet,
we lilt and wave like grasses
grown to meet
the closing breeze
expectant of the end of day.
Its caress renews.
Tonight, yes,
shut out the lights, my dear.
Inhale ecstasy
and drain the sky of stars.
At high noon,
oh, your touch
fired up my spine
and we blazed ‘til our embers
glowed and sputtered
side-by-side
red at their core
clothed only in blue ash.
I boiled in the heat.
46 Mind Melden | Mark Timon