A Composition Poem by RIC BASTASA

i don't really think that it is
just a sound,

well, it could be a song,
a singsong,

of sweet groans
and lusty moans,

a sigh perhaps
a hush
in the middle of the night

some buds
that open to the tickle
of the
sun ray

one morning from a slit
of a violet venetian
blind

open hands,
lips gaping for gaping lips

a tongue
searching for taste
eyes

half-closed waiting
for your caress
that unforgotten kiss

hair freely falling
like winds
dancing in the field
of white tulips