54: Arabesque

Her areola tightens above like

a moon defines over

her expanse

of valley-desert

skin; we recline across stars; where, from

her nipple to

the button

of the universe, I have walked

her fabric

to arrest in the grass

of an

oasis. A world,

from here

will bloom; and this world,

out in morning dew, forth from

a red born love, will center our souls; for

these bodies are a loan; the journey

is weighed; we are naked,

we own

nothing: precious moments -

precious children - given life.