in the golden bath of the plunging sun the one who is stranger no more holds her close to still her trembling and seeks to illuminate her darkened soul she turns to him, her face a brazen perfection but her eyes of raw umber a reflection of sorrow his own eyes a deep sapphire sparkle, infect her with the calmness of still waters they bubble up from her eyes, streaming down unblemished skin—the dew of relief and the kiss, a plunge into a celestial fountain and in the softness a burst into wondrous paradise he pauses—her tears do not stop, she entreats the salt turns sweet and her body yields to passion he shelters her from the icy breeze whispering to her in harmony with long grass whistles the stars illuminate her face ever so softly and she relinquishes her heart to his warm embrace
"The smell of ink is intoxicating to me - others may have wine, but I have poetry." ~ Terri Guillemets