At The Edge Of Day

You climb to my
herb scented cave --
you come with your
cat eyes, curling
mouth, and unnatural
wisdom. You speak in
shades, your voice
an invisible touch.

I bind your
dark hair in light.
Our mahogany hearts
shed the weight
of old tears
and silent sighs.
We eat dried fruit
watch sleeping doves,
their breasts
creamy white.

Petra Klein

If you've any comments on this poem, Petra Klein would be pleased to hear from you.