Tilt that cup towards us, beauty…
the saucer of which rests politely on your knee~
We buzz close to your perfumed wrists,
a white throat that rises gracefully
like a swan from the waters of your blue-green blouse
Lips upturned against rim.
The honey sinks beneath brew
unaware of your graces, of each pulsing beat
that throbs beneath layers of skin
it knows not of worldly devises,
cannot know the glory of being within
vessels of the divine.
Processing, putting out, dreaming of the sky
which unfurls like the heady promise of
lofty hope before us~
We make our beds of clover and grass
sweet, dewy licks of coolness
that douses the skin.
It is our song that draws you finally,
whirling like a constellation of gold
glistening pollen & rain,
catching light… all for that sweet drink of nectar,
a lazy caress from the mistress’ lips
and perhaps a taste tomorrow.