James A Collins 

She said my hands were beautiful
so I laid my right hand against her cheek:
Cupped her chin in my palm
described her jaw line with my fingers
ending at the shallow of her temple
She said my voice was a lullaby
so I laid my face against her left cheek
and my breath floated across golden strands
massaged the curve of her ear
as my chest rumbled close to hers
A broken black umbrella
shades the treasure chest
of these memories
She said my lips were velveteen
so I pressed my lips against her hand
then journeyed along her right arm
until I arrived at last in
the sweet shallow where neck meets shoulder
She said my lips were sweet
so I pressed my lips against hers
that she might taste them
again and again and again and again
A broken black umbrella
shades this treasure chest of memories
She said my hands were beautiful
so I circled my hand under her breast:
described the circumference where it met her chest
and took the measure of her areola
then pressed it to my lips
She said my heart was healable
so I placed it in her hands:
She transected the loneliness,
traversed the fields of loss
then sutured the vessel
with kisses & caresses
Wind has stolen the black umbrella
Now it flies like a wounded crow
into the western sky




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