she returns to long ago;
she seeks him
as the lizard seeks
its hot rock.

an old don, now,
whispered baritone
slither tongue,
he covers her
with passion-flowers
still young
and tender vines;
of wind-swept beaches
stars painted on black skies
the weathered fisher’s hut.

they share another
torrid moonlight
in a cave by the sea,
drinking brut
through long-stemmed roses
eating chocolate.

they celebrate
old love.

marsha sweet


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: