Skin touching skin
fingertips tracing
the warm darkness
of tired lovers.

Nestled deep into beds
birds are asleep
their songs are fading
into the soft echoes of night.

Like the painter regards the subject.
Running small, soft hands
across the canvas of her body
hungry, unafraid
searching for meaning,

Mountains, valleys and rivers,
woman is Earth.
She rumbles and quakes,
turns with seasons,
waxes and wanes with the moon.

In the drought she waters
in the cold she warms
she is soft like spring sun
she is life, tucked away compact.

Woman drifts into salty sleep,
Women wrap up nicely into one another


1 thought on “Earth”

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