Listen, do you here?
I hear the push and pull of sunset
Towards night, enthralled lovers
Soiled with the hues of dusk, a tender hum
Of heartbeats, wings sipping dew,
My lips wet around your finger,
Bodies curved like saplings, limbs
Like hanging branches
Caught on dreams, fingerprints
Pressed with pollen kneading poetry.
Passion has speech for shadows.
I hold the serpent in hand,
My breasts nudging beauty
Towards some intimate hymn.
Pretending to be still, tongue
Caught on one last drop of nectar,
You take the flower from my thigh
And press it to my lips, a moist betrothal.
(c) A Hannan