Light from the sun caresses a spider web.
Moving gently, it creates a prism of dancing light.
Black-capped chickadees pluck yellow moths from overgrown ivy.
Like vivid green lace, it creates the lifeline of the small screen porch.
Cycles of life are seen from our bed, awakening with the yellow-orange of sunrise.
Our nest is warm with notions and promises of intemperate love.
Long lashes enhance the emerald windows to your soul.
Your muscular torso leans over my naked face with childlike tenderness.
My big browns are sleepy.
You place feather-like brushes on my forehead and cheeks.
Tickling my young flesh, I ask, what you are doing?
You tell me they are a gift of butterfly kisses.
Tears open up well-used doors.
My weeping leaves trails of salty passion.
Shaking uncontrollably, you beg me not to cry.
Such a…