Para Ti

You are a riddle to me
An elusive story that will never be uttered
A swallow that perches on my shoulder awhile
Then migrates with the inevitable call of the season
Poised in the springtime of possibility
My vision sometimes heavily blinkered
Sometimes scorched by the sun teasing the horizon
Can I close my eyes and deny?
The pages of your book fall open before me
I savour the essence of raw pages, fresh ink
Without braving consideration of the conclusion
Nor how your feathers on my belly whipped up a storm
Recline and smile as you tip-toe over my navel
Without considering the scratches you form
I would ask you to settle your toes into my sand dunes
To drag you tight to the crease of my breast
To succumb to the call of the ocean
As its tides test us
It is not my privilage to ask you to forget.

by Charlotte Anna Witts

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