Stark
white walls
amid
lush green hills,
glitters
of blue
through
tall tree tops
where
butterflies swing
on a
twist of cloud,
skipping
beneath the breeze.
Chiffon
wings flap
like sheets
on a line,
higher
and higher they go.
Behind
the walls
my
love strokes my hair
weaving
it into wicker.
Whistling,
he plies
with
tangles of curls
snaking
them into a river
that
hooks to a slice of sky.
The
sky splits in six
stars
tumble in thousands
cradling
a molten moon.
I
spread myself wide
as sun
warmed butter,
gentled
by his touch.
With
a cushion of moss
beneath
my nape
he
plaits me to the walls.
Mmc © July 2012