Lost in her oasis
The contours of her skin
Desire swelters
Bathing sun glazed sin

A portrait of beauty
Temptation frames her back
An hourglass of divinity
Her sweet innocence intact

Autumn is in her hair
And springtime on her hips
Yet winter cannot taste
The jasmine on her lips

Eyes savor the splendor
Dripping from summer’s vine
Hands harvest my passion
Washing lust from this love of mine

MISTY
Autumn is in her hair
And springtime on her hips
Yet winter cannot taste
The jasmine on her lips
****************************
OH! FULL OF FRGRANCE
SPREADS THE HEART IN ECSTASY
MISTY NOT MISSES
SUPANI

This is really something, Misty!

It "sends me," as people once said, and I say it because it does; that is to say, it "sends me" to a place of pure imagination, a freeze-frame moment of pure being. This is the sort of poem which carries the reader away in total involvement by immersion.

Actually, the expression "sends me" is inaccurate; "takes me" would be better. In any case, the poem works, and does what good poems--the best poems--do. It is something hard to describe but easy to feel; it is flow, let us say. A flow experience. The reader is taken out of their context and involved in other; this, ultimately, is the goal of poetry, this flow, this transcendence: to become one with everything, if only for a flash. A satori does not take long to experience, but the after-image of the flash remains forever.

Peace and love,

+Stevie