the skin of my dreams
bleached by the silver of the bleeding moon,
caught in the nets of a pine tree.
longing, thick and salty, slides drop by drop,
wraps around my vocal cords, when I whisper your name.
the murmur of the ocean, silences me, drowned my thoughts
in thousands of voices, in the mouthful of pebbles.
hours deepen beyond the fog of midnight
as you, my desire, resonate in my fingertips,
like a breath of spring
in the heart of a migrating bird.
©3/20/2012 by Nina K Orlovskaya
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