Spring

I make love to the thought of you.
Moments like this enduring
the painful tenderness
that shepherd tears
to a safe sanctuary
where you hold me and call
upon my inner most solace.

You exist in times of desolation
when my heart believes in nothing
more than agony.
I am alone
walking a familiar short cut
knowing of what lies ahead
and clutching to black limbs
that crowd the path.

With my sword of thirst,
I rend them back
piece by piece-
one step closer to you.

Nearing the silent beat
of your heart,
I dropp a basket of petals
and etch my name in the tree
that imprisons your soul.

Your face glistens like moonlight.
You shimmer among a million scattered dreams.
You tell me that I am your Spring-
beauty with the eyes of an angel
and smiles of the sea.
I sigh and grin as you push
an orchid behind my ear.

Tomorrow, when I find
you once again,
I'll bring to you the sunshine,
the smell of cut grass,
and the fresh rain of Spring.

by Joyelle Osburn

Other poems of OSBURN (12)

Comments (2)

This is beautiful and heady. Really good images! Debi
One of my favorites of yours.