Dip your fingers into oceans of light

tiny moons in our outstretched hands

a remembrance of open palms

sifting through infinite time

powerless to reverse the hours

Neruda’s “Ode To Time”

My eyes have burned out in your beauty

but you are my eyes.

I perhaps exhausted your breasts

beneath my kisses but the world knows

your secret splendor is my happiness.

Love, what does it matter that time,

the very time that raised two flames,

two waving heads of wheat,

my body and your gentleness,

tomorrow will hold them safe.

Pexel