Walking Through Cupid’s Woods

Sleep thick as molasses and lion’s manes
the red-haired angel gives me his sweater
of apple blossom leaves and pumpkin spice
we walk through hills of linden trees
together, pause for breath, canopy view
mountain laurels bend like widows in wind
and my lover’s face is ageless, golden
as the sun that kisses our skin, in the
very depths of winter I remember fragrant
fall, an awakening sweet as the harvest,
in between oak and holly, hyssop, yarrow,
white and golden blooms carve his path
and the roads to my lover are endless,
the smell of autumn spice, campfires,
keeping me awake in darkened morning, I
rise with the taste of honey on tongue,
a guitar plucked with calloused fingers,
impressions of red and gold, soaring hawk
my angel is not so far from a mountain,
not so tall as the sea, not so roughened
as the windswept granite, scarred but
smooth, giving and bending like a spring
shoot, but it is far from April, and in
my sleep, in his heart, the leaves are
turning brown and dappled like a fawn,
we walk hand-in-hand under setting suns,
the stars peek out through the twilight,
we kiss goodbye, sail off to separate
dimensions, but across universes, fall
is a constant state of being, fall from
heaven, fall into grace, and then, like
the bold phoenix, rise from brassy dusk,
his sweater frays, I pull threads apart,
pull until I can barely remember his face,
just his grace, his musk like home, smile
like sunlight on water, my rock, my heart
is up in the stars with heaven’s prince
and I remember bear hollows and passages
of hiking through time and reverie, a
fragrant landscape of meadow and country,
the gardener’s delight is the sleeping
cocoon on dry wildflowers, and I am in
slumber in the real world, marinating
in the stew of his soul, enchrysalised,
I will bloom like a butterfly come spring
and he will let me go, hold me no more
for your best kept secrets fly free
when the time comes for your heart
to seek freedom, and leave your nest
you the tree that raised a fletchling,
she the summer rainstorm, the winter
swallow, you part, we part, but I
will always carry wings from hopeful
hushed conversations in silky light.

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