Poppy red sun
curling round your face;
your colors will always sing to me.
Your whites so white, your pinks so pink, and
those eyes clear blue as mountain pools. East Indian
oranges in exotic prints. Western Indian paintbrush blooming
in the desert against a setting sun; golden tangerine glowing. Your fire
burns ever, calling me from every sidewalk, whispering your name. In my
memory, a brilliant blaze streaks across the magic of your silky slender
curves, slanting like sunset along the meadow. Velvet remembrance
of your skin still strokes my fingertips; while the warmth of your
thighs cushion my longing hips. The campfire of your
colors fan against my senses like a spring
monsoon, while scents of coral
wildflowers linger
on your
lips.