Going To Tuscany Poem by Gert Strydom

Just outside the window
at the fountain
a place in Tuscany
runs into violet hills
of lavender
against the outer wall
and sweet lavender perfume
drifts into the room.

In the corridor
between the bedrooms
and your studio
paintings of scenes
in Tuscany
shows where your heart
wants to go.

On the bed next to me
twin peaks with delicate
red brown nipples
rise inviting
with their own
perfume drawing me closer
to fields of your lavender.

To some they could be
big South African rondavels
shading against the African sun,

but more likely they
are pale white villas
set high above your sea
where beyond auburn bushes
is as secret hidden pond.

Streets meander up and down
soft and firm
arms and legs
while Tuscany rises
in the middle of me

and a hot welcome breezes
like the Tuscan wind
against my hand
and I feel passionate rain
between your legs
and I see daylight and stars
in your eyes

and your lashes
open and close
like table-clothes
jerked by a storm
coming in from the sea
in great old Tuscany

and I drive my Tuscany into you,
into a street of wondrous delicacies
and we go to Tuscany
where fields of lavender grow

and I know that it is like heaven
but somewhere here on earth
and Tuscany reflects in your eyes
and I hear it in your sighs
and Tuscany is right here.