Peach clouds tumble over an

autumn morning.

Cool, almost impeccably sharp

Yet

Soft, light, feathery, cushioning the

blow:

A collision of ecstasy

 

Frozen grass breathing again with

the morning dew on its blades.

Birds break the silence of the night;

singing their last goodbye before winter descends:

The birthing of vibrancy

 

The clouds turn gray, raindrops

disrupt the pond water below.

Shyly, the sun pushes its rays

around bends and corners onto the meadow

Colors spatter the darkened daytime sky:

Blindness becomes vision

 

 

Opening my eyes

I realize

There are not clouds rolling over

hills.

There are no morning doves

There are no rainbows

 

Only your lips brushing

against mine

Only your fingers caressing

all of my dips and curves

Only you and I