He compared her to shadows
cast by a forest in the moonlight,
and she became darker still.
He longed to sweep his hand
over her waned skin,
though she cloaked it beneath nightfall.
Reaching to a branch,
he curled a browning, crisp leaf
around his index finger.
The same finger that yearned
to nestle within the curls
of her raven, opaque hair,
and the very finger that fought
the bittersweet evening.
He pinched the sprig and
tenderly beckoned it’s freedom.
He sang melodies of the spring,
danced the salsa of sunrise
and tickled the hinge of the bronze shoot.
Until, the weary limb surrendered,
forcing a glistening echo upon the breeze.
Her eyes, charmed by his serenity,
reflected the glimmer
and it settled on his crown.
She tittered,
and compared him to amoretto,
as he softened her silhouette
and peeled away each copper veneer
until the air was as silver as the moon.
