Meeting your body’s needs

I want bread.

We watch the dough rise,

lapping at

spilling over the edges of the bowl.

Kneading.

.

Fingers and palms wrapped,

buried in the flesh of the dough.

Folding. Stretching. Bending.

Pressing deeply, firmly.

.

Let it rise. Wait. Bake.

.

Your tan fingers

wrapped around my white hips,

squeezing so the flesh rises up around your fingers.

Leaving indentations.

Needing.

.

We scorch our fingers

on the bread

too hot from the oven.

I lick the melted butter

running down the back of your hand.

Haiku 4

Against the blue sky

Branches blurred as by distance

Sprouting of new leaves

Haiku #3

apricot backdrop

cloud fingers beckon the night

enticing darkness

Tanka 4.29

warm bread freshly baked

the earth just after spring rains

clothes dried in the sun

a bush laden with lilacs

my sheets still smelling like you

Haiku 4.29

stormy percussion

rimshots against the window

thunder’s low bass drum