Small letters alight on her lashes, tiny poetry about her eyes
Kisses of ancient rhythm, a pucker for a flame stoked
Each blink the turn of a page reveals whole worlds
Every breath has meaning, those lighter than air defy gravity
Limericks line her brow when she laughs
When she sighs I trace my lips along the long volta of her neckline
Where her sonnets turn around
Down her arms flow three-letter words, we are kids again
Awash in primary colors, hands waving wildly at tickles
Dancing about in a spray, we drink water from a hose
There are symbols dangling from her ears that I do not recognize
Baubles of mystery; I linger there eschewing translation.

© Chagall 2016