IN YOUR HANDS

From the mist drink your profile

serene and mild as autumn breeze,

warm and soft as the sun path from sleep

I imagine my skin sing under your touch

and I can almost feel the taste of your mouth

fire and fountain,

arbutus and honey water,

shiver and laugh.

I am clay in your hands

just boot into the bowels of the earth,

heated wine,

dormant volcano,

desire in upheaval.

You only call with glitter look.

The wind understand my smile

and takes your name to the ends of being.

I wait ...

and the waiting is sweet.

© Graça Costa

                                                                       by Saatchi