The Island

Crisp, cool linen sheets caress

        our barren shins and thighs

                 as I slip into you stealthy arms,

        your luscious lips brushing against the nape

                         of my impressionable neck.

The balmy breeze is a banana split,

                 sticky, sugary, sweet,

        but it tames the ferocious tiger

                        within, as I relax into you.

Time shared with you is Heaven;

                we soar high in the indigo sky

        over mountain peaks and plush, green parks.

                         Within our bountiful souls,

                 our stalwart heartbeats are strumming

        like guitar strings crooning to their own psalms.

The tangerine orb blisters in the late afternoon,

        the ever shifting sky spraying

                        plum, crimson, and amber,

                a carnival of color painted for us.

Kissing, we are kissing, without trepidation,

        the taste of you always in my senses,

                drowning in consummated devotion,

                         your blazing, emerald eyes moist

                your hand cradles in mine.

Even I love you seems mundane,

        as If we were paying bills or filing taxes,

                        or discussing the flat economy.

                There is no jazzy language to illustrate

        the bliss, the jubilation, the magic, the reverence.

                        My ship sails into your port,

                ready to embark on thrilling promenades

                        and plant seeds in dusty sand.

I presume that I am in love with an island,

        you, as long as you inhabit my tender heart,

                       and protect my unspoken ardor.

                It’s the radiance in your smile,

        the hesitation in your voice,

                        the benevolence bubbling below.

                It’s for the taking; just grab the brass ring.