The air is salted, primordial
laced with soft rose and fine-spun sandalwood.
The tiny, ancient cataclysms bursting in her soul
are forgotten as they are conceived
vanishing in the ripening of her desire,
in a blur of gold and green
and playful shades of dancing blues.
On the sun-kissed terrain of her skin,
in the rose red of her lips
there is both strength and surrender
supple willingness and course exhalations, moist
vulnerabilities catching in a tangle at the threshold
between wilderness and electricity,
between the breath and the lips.