These Silk Hills

On these fresh mornings 

Sweet dew glistens 

A silent dawn kisses 

and mists 

These silk hills. 

Helios hangs low 

With sly eyes 

Whispering lovingly.

The land waits.

There!

he rides 

Rousing and vitalising 

The earth below

And off his tails blows

A slow favouring wind

Escorting the foothills awake

Stirring slowly and rolling

Into a swirling mass of ever changing horizons.

A deep pressure builds

And my calloused hands

would not dare to grasp

These velvet petals. 

My palms linger timidly above it all

Breathing in every porous blade of grass as they tickle my finger tips.

Above me,

A glimpse of pollen wisps before I am soon swallowed and surrounded.

Tumbling about 

Interlocking my limbs with the hill’s right of way.

I stay quiet

So that this deep hold will consume me further into itself 

Collapsing our curves together.

My bosom and breasted body 

bedded and bound 

belong to the hills now.

I weep.