sunday morning scribbles II

there is

the gray light of dawn
of morning seagulls
of sheets still fresh
with yesterday's warmth

my hand floats
on your rising torso
as we did the day before
in laughter, in the sea

my lips riding the crest
of your shoulder
of humid trails
I trace, softly

and I feel the first stirrings
of your sleepy toes
the tightness of morning
thighs taut

of dream tussled tresses
upon my brow
and closed-eyed
whispers of a Sunday morning

and yesterday's sand
upon the floor
of towels thrown
of clothes abandoned

as you bend your knee
and I bend mine

+++++++

I want to be a flower
not for beauty
or fragrance

but to live but briefly
impaled in the drill of bees
a whore complete of petal exposed

all dewy in the morn
spread and split and nooned
just a slut for the buzz

for the breeze
for those that come and go
taking what they want

what they need
however briefly
to live complete