Your hair now evening sky
My finger trails your spine.
Your face half-buried in the sand;
your hair now evening sky,
covering your eyes, your mouth;
the landscape that I love
and touch in awe.
Your shoulders specked
with sand and sweat,
bronzed and bare, are beautiful
reminders of the wings we used to wear,
before we made the flesh
a carnival of want and words.
My finger trails your spine;
all of my prayers painted there,
between your shoulder blades.
And lower, faster goes my blood,
my words and thoughts - my finger moves,
where all the fires are waiting.