THIS ELATION

THIS ELATION


This elation,
this sunlight after the snow,


and this page my lover,
because we are alone.


Look how the cypress trees
edge my thoughts and the


sweet smelling mimosa
peeks her delicate head


into my window to see me
under a canopy of dreams


of warmth and want - and
flowers that grow from


one world into the next,
their fragrance my desire.


Now, your kiss - a languid
fall into love all over again.

THE DANCE

THE DANCE


In the late
afternoon sun
of February,


in a room
resplendent
with hearts,


we dance
the polka in
old world style


to long-playing
records that skip
with contentment,


while the crows
on the wall look
impassively on.


I see nothing
but your cornflower
blue eyes.


I feel nothing
but your warm sweet
breath on my cheek.


Your expression says,
let’s dance till the
crows call our names.