We dance on the last beams of sunlight.
Sundance. Festival. In the field.
Blades of yellow and green, slender stalks.
Up to our knees as we disappear
where no one can see us.
There is nothing clothing you except a
sheer red skirt,
draped about the curvature of your waist.
Concealing you from the stars' eyes.
Your skin is a glow. Moonlit.
Pale perfection.
The strands of your curls falling loose between
your breasts.
I throw down a blanket. Climb onto its softness.
Watching you is like watching honey-bees making honey.
You make my mouth wet. I am hungry for your sweetness.
You make my mind curious at the ways. At the motion.
Bare hands plucking at the sky. You tease the sunset with your fingertips.
My eyes trace the slope of your arms and the pleasure of your muscles.
You are not weak. You are powerful and feminine.
Your body is the signature of god.
Written in my language.
Your hips move to the earth's laughter. Womanly full hips.
Your bare feet clutching the earth beneath you.
I pull you towards me. Press your nakedness into my skin.
I feel the eruption of my nerves in a roar. Begging me never to let go.
As I inhale, the scent of summer rivers fills my mouth.
I want to navigate you. Venture into tumbling depths. And push myself beneath your surface.
Your poetry is still in my ears. The way your read it to me.. quietly, certainly.
I picture your mouth make the shape of the letter "b". Slowly with emphasis.
Keep dancing with me. Until the night comes and hides you away from me.
Until I have to strain every ounce of my sight to catch the moon reflecting in your eyes. Keep dancing.
-Andrew Tipton
