Come spring
ripe seeds fly,
your sweet mouth
covers mine
and I am alive again with
grace and tolerance.
Atop white stone cliffs
over hills with lavender-heather
we surrender and swoon
under heated sun.
This is a poetic destiny
with no fear, for
we are at one with
nature's pulse...
In India, bells toll
over cool grasses,
under salt and pepper stars,
Asian lions leap
with gazelles
extolling our great, passionate,
triumph over loneliness
a complete union of souls.
And it is our pleasure
to touch and tremble
kissing tenderly-
pomegranate kisses-
there are no misgivings,
It is our tender beginning
at the bitter end of
the world's final attempt
to bring back Camelot.
