Where your fingertips touch
the air hangs perfumed by red roses.
The vast heaven is a crumpled sheet of paper
that i pick up from your basket.
On a piece of blue sky you lift your half finished sentence alive in its silence.
But, you begin again in soft sunbeams to inscribe Love's feverish murmurs
while spellbound dawns eagerly leave their homes to become syllables of your soul.
Astounded, i watch how easy it is for you to pluck stars from the sky like fruits from night's orchards.
You don't have to tell me
i know how you feel about love.