The Bristlecone Pine Thrives

I have to thrill

at the sight

of your rose gold flats

beneath the Chiavari chair,

your warm scarf of silk orchids

and lilies draped there.

The gift of red orange

bittersweet vines

you twined in your hands

now wreath the lamp

and I wonder at the

soft rise of your breasts

above the white flowered

flow of your belly

beneath my hands 

&

the timeless give and take

 of your breath,

at rest.