To Kiss Your Burled Lips
To kiss your burled lips
with feathered stroke of artist’s brush,
to paint the night with tenderness,
and form a long-lost lover’s hush.
To sigh a couplet of new rhyme,
to cast a paired quatrain
with ease of a familiar verse –
and realize you again.
To sculpt your body with master’s hew,
to mold the hours with devoted hands;
to spin the potter’s wheel of desire
while ‘round the oil of passion blend.
To touch the well-worn canvas,
entwined on well-versed bowered couch,
to build the newest love event
as Technicolor fades to dusk.