Take me, my love, to your forest,
where the delightful rose flowers.
Let me set the delicate sweet caress of scented petals in your hair.
There, where drifts of light
glisten sweated delight against cherry tipped Sunkist mountains,
Let us talk of love,
My dusky mountain maid.
Gently I place the crisp sweet perfection behind your ear.
Kissing soft between eyes searching me for honest affection.
Why is it, my love, that you fascinate me so?
I yearn for the purity of your touch,
I am addicted helplessly to the rapture of your beauty,
the unending passion of it –
yet resent spoiling your pure perfection.
Like the rose,
pure as saffron,
glistening ‘gainst the tangible touch of evening,
rooted in the womb of the nurturing earth.
Untouched; and my hands and face,
purified in ittar hina, keep distant.
You’re brow questions me,
dissolved instantly by a disarming smile.
A light squeeze of my hand.
gently you caress my cheek,
and new born awakenings
stir deep sunken intentions.
Intentions like the awakening of bees
humming pollinating passions.
Passions hanging heavy like the entwining forest branches.
Rolls of desire,
like foliage ebbing and flowing
yearning budding to new life.
A desire anchored to the contused earth that feeds new hope.
Like a thorn, the past protects the rose,
but now it is time enjoy the beauty of the flower.
A past that feeds deep into the earth’s loins
dissolving chaotic confusion to feed new love.
Like a dream that seeps into your blood,
filling your veins with a tender yearning like twilight.
The soft romantic secrets
hidden in your veil
entice me with modesty.
and the pure rose, grows probing
deep into the womb of the earth.
My soft budding
growing firm in the warm
secret skin of infinite
feminine tenderness.
I yearn for the aroma of the rose,
to drink the ambrosia of your touch.
A touch that fills you for eternity.
A touch no one can take from you.
A desire that left untouched
eats your life away.
That calls for satisfaction.
The sweet rose kisses the navel of the earth.
My soft cheek, like petals,
resting on your tender mound.
For now, in this moment,
we have infinity.
our amita drawn from chaotic passions.
Write your lovers name, sweet maiden,
on the tender perfumed petals and throw them to the wind.
There you will see that my name will be last to settle on the lawn –
It is my love that if prophesied for us both.
Leaves thrown into a fire enjoin us with good fortune.
A bright red rose, not white blushed embarrassed red .
A passionate rose, a symbol of the spirit that binds us.
Dusky mountain maid, born of a rose,
more pure is your love than the rose of Eden.
Your garb scented in rose abir
A rose argujja delighting the sweetness of your eye
and rose otto pampering your skin.
You my love are more precious to me,
Than the fragrant parijita
or the shimmering Candra
risen from chaos.
For its fragrance rests,
Not in heaven,
But in you.
