GATES OF GRASS

Through gates of grass
frail daybreak glides:
the gate's edge laced by prismic beads of dew
reflects the palest gold and turquoise sky
and gilds her sleep-swept hair.
Our sea-scented lovers' bed of ferns
Groans softly as she stirs.

In my arms, gently held,
smelling of new-baked bread,
Myfanwy lies

Enclosed.

Through gates of grass
the noon sun strides:
wipes with warm hands our pool-pearled thighs
and sifts the tangled webs of knotted hair;
paints the leafy awning neon bright
and stiffens the stems of our ferny screen
on plays of passion sweet performed.

In my arms, soft and still,
with musk-rich scent of after love,
Myfanwy lies

Entwined.

Through gates of grass
twilight trails the dusk:
to douse the fiery skies of sunset
fading fast to indigo and profound purple.
Shadows drift by like darkling snow,
leach the fulsome forest greens
and silhouette the brittle bracken stands.

In my mind's arms, ethereal,
with poignant perfume memory-made,
Myfanwy lies

Elsewhere

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Cover picture:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/7911705@N07/2210345527/