she is the wind, tossing
whispers of hair, bending
green canopies, rousing
wild tempests

her voice is a purr,
it is unabashed laughter,
birdsong and brook
bubbles, dissonant bliss

droplets of ocean and
stardust on moonbeams,
a fragrant, delectable
feast for the senses

bloodborne, arterial,
dew infused breath,
flesh covered sinew
imprinted in dust

found in each moment
palpable, fleeting,
a sparkling implosion
for those paying attention.

kat ~ august 2015