Summer Blooms

We lay in bed together, naked, the windows open,
a slight breeze to stir the hot, oppresive August air.
She is smiling, running her fingers in my hair, tender.
I’m shaking, excited, scared. She takes my hands in hers.
“There is nothing between us. We are together and one.”
She puts my hands on her small, firm breasts, kisses me.
She pulls me tightly to her, and I lose my breath in the touch.
We make love, softly and carefully, two flesh made one soul.
The sun bright, the wind quiet, the air stiffling, the dream whole.
Afterwards, her head resting on m arm and chest, my head on hers
she sings a song, sacred in it’s brokenness, it sorrow and hope.
My heart still races, her breath still wild and ragged.
We are one, there is nothing here between us, in this hothouse room
and our vulnerablity in the light and in love, in the summer blooms.
I kiss her head, and sing with her, a hymn of the left behind and pure,
a hymn of a more ancient and whispering god, of love for love, for kindness.

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