Your music weaves its way
Through my cells,
Lands in my heart,
Languid and Zen.

It's like breathing.

I allow your river
To sweep me along,
Your banks full of lush foliage
Stones of ageless lore,
Singing in their silence.

Your dimpled chin
Holds the deepest mysteries,
Your hair, the locks
A Grimoire,
The gentle pages
To be caressed
Until the story tumbles free.

In this sudden winter,
I feel a timid seedling
Taking a strong hold.

11/23/2014

Posted on 11/23/2014
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie