The winter rains had not yet abated
when your dark eyes
first spoke their earnest whispers
in your father's garden.
barely apart in their trembling,
proclaimed the longing that lay hidden
in your quiet shadows of draped skin.
I remember your fingertips most of all -
how you lavished your caresses against
my palm as the roses wept for spring.
In time the wildflowers bloomed
and the green grass ran up the slopes
around our city.
The sun rose ever higher to illuminate
the majesty of our new season
and remains there ...