fuels the fires of mind, heart, and life hot
as suns in near tropics and her atmosphere
swelters with sultry summer and flowers
exotic as crescent moons sandside and dry
desert, home for scorpions — symbol strength
sans macabre — hibiscus in her hair red
as sunset and promising oases
soft in her arms . . . she whispers her longing,
tells of the ache in her heart, all eyes filled
with love and glad tears: welcome back; how long
since we parted? silent together we speak
more with our eyes than Rumi’s thin volume.
each look, each kiss, each pressing of our lips
spells out her alphabet of affection.
David M Pitchford
8 August 2012