You are a candy sweeter
than a molecule of flower dust,
spasm of sound among the spires
—oh apricot weeks!—sharpened
memories on a prowl yet painted
peaches to a murmuring waterfall.
A breath lesioned core.
in your mouth, of yore I waited
till you twanged cerulean harpsichords
down a rivulet of toothsome repose.
A clock a blab—the sun
is a masquerade ball
rolling over the shoulders
of corseted tradition.
Forgive me for what
I have whispered
to your snow-capped silence;
for I am head of quills
disillusioned by the parted sea,
marshalled by gulls,
your time I fain endeared,
with sauces built upon chances
that hummed you near.
Flutists against the friendship of fire,
they play and sing their pipes out
for a scholarship of sands in El Nido.
Your feet, speaking of blonde oceans, shove
away the caries lounging upon my coral
enamel, whitening the leaden shores,
blossoming, even purging out sinister crablets
from a prestigious crucifixion of the clowns.
But you epitomizing love pageantry
are the pillow hugging my tummy:
caresses that shiver the cold in its brine.
And your patience cling like ivy,
wife of loyalty from the snorkeling esophagus;
take me with your fingering asparagus
and we’ll unfurl the tasseled tongue
of silence into wings of love.