Your colors consume me,
glow my cheeks and
drink my senses
like cinnamon sticks
spicing empty hours
as stars glimmer
tiny lights through velvet.
You cannot see
your shine spread
wild flowers against
Alaskan ridges
or how they
sink turtle shells
in blue Caribbean water.
Our love-making bows
tomorrow's prism
opening hidden passages
when caressed limbs
reveal your hues
and you melt your rain
into my pores.
Pamela A. Lamppa
Copyright © 2012
all rights reserved
