Ripening

Did you not compel me
with your fertile landscape
to conceive a thought
of acquiescence
That I may touch heaven
if only for an hour
as your ripening buds
surrendered to my touch
Did you not propel me
with your servile hand to nape
to embolden in need
this quickening
An action birthed
with a pregnant pause
as your seasons
unfolded before me

You did not repel me
But let me lay a while
In your delicate layers
As we blossomed together

 

by PIXIEANNIE & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2015