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tropical dreams

at the river's edge
I would weave a strand of flowers for your hair;
a man's eager and hasty weave: broken filaments hidden
in a cluster of tiny leaves,
with each leaf symbolizing
a moment in the night
when I woke, fresh and perceptive,
my heart doped by memories of your inflections.

but you are too beautiful for flowers in your hair,
too beautiful for dust upon your cheeks,
and I am paralyzed
by the distraction of your walk,
the sway of thin delicate arms at your side,
the several soft fingers that I would cup in my hands
and kiss

and kiss.

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(C) 4/28/02 Tom Brinck


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