The Blankets Whispered, a verse

The blankets whispered touched and free

   Lovers hands travelling rivers, mountains, centuries

  Rested, and roved, and sought and caressed

          While the sun played drunkenly on the edges of the moon.

Their words resounded on the starched sheets as beckoning swallows

     And the world went its way, and conventions went their way and

  Silence pervaded the sheets where the lover’s moist palms clasped and moved and spoke of joy.    

“Love is a rare flower blossoming on the breath of a shared moment,” she whispered.

“Love is soft unconditioned touching, “she replied.

And the blankets whispered touched and free

And the lovers slept embraced, and free

And their rhythmic breath intonated a duet

And their hands caressed rivers, mountains, centuries

And in their sleep they painted rainbows on their hips.