paradise's parking lot

vast field of asphalt and lampposts
empty in daylights hours...
on its most distant edge
where trees overhang and
weeds have encroached in pavement's fissures
the buick sits in shade and silence
immersed in birds song and seabreeze

she sits on the hood
her patchwork quilted hippy dress brightly shines
in soft textures and scents
beads and bracelets with bells on her ankle
she is deep beauty in soft sand
an agent of the souls better natures
her form embraces the sunlight
that escapes through the overhead canopy of leaves
it dances on her skin like liberty's celebration
like lovers entwined in
passions kiss aftermath of lonesome song

a bird lands nearby and with
loud cry speaks of the hot sand and threadbare grass
with a hot voice describes the lush life it lives
and its dreams of rivers of wind
my pen has paused
she is talking to me in such soft voice now
asking if i am hungry
we sit in the peaceful edge of paradise's parking lot
where nature has stained manmade perfections
with it vibrant life
eating the salty butter bread sipping the tart wine
and wait for my pen to find its words again
waiting for the time to pass