In a clay bowl, a vessel shaped by love’s hands,
a flame burns brightly –
an eternal cycle glinting in the memory of grace.
A face in brilliance; this dalliance – incarnated
in the fervor of desire; a fire shared,
not fueled by wood but awakened by the moon.
This space, this island, this planet for two, dressed
like natives exposed to one another
making life so grand. Mother would frown upon us
if she looked down upon us. But I trust that
what she’s not around to see would usually be for the best.
Your soul follows my lead, a celebratory dance; a chance
to make magic by pushing two hearts
into the border of a single space the shape of one.
This place. Our island alone.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014