Poetry / The Scent of Apricot

In my room of lapis-blue:
I hang the moon and wait for news—
no, better yet—for you
to enter like a breeze,
wrapped in the scent of apricot.

With mind’s eye I do behold
your golden glow begin to flow
‘cross threshold onto Persian folds
of sheep—spun in their sleep
to brilliant blooms of sacred rose
that hang on stars beneath your toes.

Across this tapis of Shiraz
onto linen fields you move—
and into mountains of cool down
that beckon you with whisper’d calm.

It is there,
with you within my view,
I choose to lose myself to you.
and now would challenge
day and night
to possess your soul’s dark light -
and then to wander, deep within
your heart and body, gypsy-like.

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