Steamers

 

The water is soft, and warm

salted sweetly like dew on bronze skin.

 

The boat at anchor rocks, a babe in a summer sea.

The water accepts us, frail humans that we are

each rise of silken sand beneath the waves a bosom of delight.

Suited, belying the au natural moment, we wade.

 

Legs and arms, receiving puritanical societyÕs permission to be bare,

wave and waver beneath and through the still blue sea.

Toes, curl and prod seeking dinner.

 

The water in its abundance yields, each molluskÕs breath rises

a stream of silver bubbles exhaled marking the bed

leading the dinners to their diner fare.

 

 

The Windmiller's Guest

 

The day was warm and sweet with spring

no breeze came to tease me.

I'd wondered what my love would bring

I'd wondered. "Where could he be?"

 

His mill stood high upon the hill

a short ride from my home,

a picnic planned would be a thrill

but that man would not roam.

 

I grabbed my bonnet, left the shawl

and out the door I ran,

perhaps, he had forgotten all

no sense of time that man.

 

I found him on the windmill's walk

staring at the gilded sea,

clay pipe in hand he watched a flock

dazed in silent reverie.

 

He smiled at me and cocked his head

and said love, "Don't you agree?"

what better place to share our bread,

"Have you brought lunch for me?"

 

 

© Debbie Guzzi, Owner Operator, Empathic Touch, Massage & Reiki

http://empathic-touch.com/

https://plus.google.com/101785252319285980922