An Ode

The twilight dawns upon those bright cheeks

 morning breaks like the first morning

a bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment

only to be bound by the effervescent fervour

speechless, the heirs of the dusk turn back

waiting for yet another sonnet sprung from your eyes.

 

Your nose gleams and your lips glisten

the Neanderthals continuing their journey for bread and butter

oblivious to the sun which has risen from within you

O holy one! Even the almighty sounds

the bickering of the river turns silent

changing lands in search of the banks risen from your boughs.

 

The locks of your hair darker than the darkest nights

like a cascading waterfall crashing down on your shoulder

and flowing through the back

a gentle breeze passes by much to a surfers delight

the reactionary moon now taciturn

chagrined by the waves raised by the divine.

 

The birds flee and the nights inundate

the springs turn dry and the twigs shake

but I forge you as a weapon to survive

morning comes with exhilaration the cuckoos swamp my deserts

like a stone in my sling and an arrow in my bow.