Shadow, somber, ember passing through,
From the canopy of the Cordobesan barrio;
Tiny pebbles kicked, among tampered foliage,
Amidst the maundering words of a passerby;
I long, I do, I reminisce of your touch,
So delicate, yet prevailing that it makes me muse;
And as the remembrance of your thick tone stirs,
It brings me back to that reposeful countryside.
The one where we spent, engulfed in a choir,
Of frogs, of cacti, of the Canarian coast;
Where the rampant waves splashed, against the bare reef,
Distracting me for a breath, before I arose once more;
To your freckles, your whispers, like songs, like wind
To devour all that was and will ever be
Where your fair skin, still burnt from the day before,
Hints at, it pleads for such osculation;
Derived of the most passionate, so subtle,
The most endearing and persuasive kind,
Submerged me helplessly, so menial yet so alive.
Just please, my dear, listen,
Through feigned verses of empathy,
While I ring assured, from depths of heart,
With the wind on your shoulders in the sea-stained air,
That I will deliver such purity to yours.
Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011
