My tree lover speaks to me through the sensual susurrus of his branches,
Rustling my dark curly-locked head.
I press my lips into his bark to let his sweet sappy mossy scent enter me
As he closes my eyes.
He gives them to me,
His spent sun-filled leaves,
Letting them fall and gather at my feet
So I can collect them
And keep them under my nightgown
Against my dewdrop skin
Until the full moon’s reflected light fills the sky
And the hollow places in my heart.
They remain there,
Until we can spend our dreams together,
And they disintegrate back into my flesh.
He embraces me with an amber passion
That hangs from my limbs in liquid suspension,
As he caresses me with the deep ridges and roughness of his bark
Which he imprints upon my yielding frame like a lingering kiss —
My softness succumbing to his hardness,
My velvet parts wearing his marks like lace.
When I am far from him,
Floundering in steeled cemented labyrinths,
The breeze carries his fallen leaves back to me.
They land in my nest of hair,
In my mooning wanting thoughts of him.
The wind carries parts of him
Back to me
On the waxy surface of redpinkorange leaves
Pocked with holes, spots, cracks and crazing.
He is no less perfect when he is falling
Than when he is splendouring
In endful summer.
*** Well then… making out with trees…. That takes the cake, Sweet Cheeks. And… admit it… you found ‘susurrus’ in the Thesaurus. ***
*** If you peeled a layer of my skin from my bones, you would see that I have bark instead of muscle fibre. ***
*** Yes. I discovered it when thesaurusing ‘rustle’… and managed to fit both of them in. ***
*** … Show-off… ***