Our Hummingbird Nests Of Skin

Sun fingers her hidden hummingbird nest of skin,
Each twig, love's unfinished sonnet, found by dawn's light.
My lips echo night’s bare swim’s wild lake water,
Our steam now swirls skyward, sisters with the breeze.
Her breathless wink, a covert quest cloaked as touch,
Then silence—inhales between our lingering drip.

Her drop, carried by sunlight, feeds my waiting drip.
Wander the rainforest of our clammy, wet skin.
She slowly turns—I search her folds, lost in touch,
Her nest, crescent moon, orbits a split of light.
She shivers, wild hairs pirouette by a breeze,
My fingers press her steam and honey tea into water.

Her hips sing a ballad—our rhythm cyclones the water,
Our chorus swells red—cools—softly—a lush drip.
We bloom, finding sun’s rays—chased by a soft breeze,
Flesh cools where steam once warmly caressed skin.
Sun’s gaze lowers, tangles softened with light,
Her calf discovers mine, a fawn, frozen by touch.

Gaze locked—hummingbirds hover, skin craving touch.
We lean as one, gathering feral hair, drowned by water.
Glints of wet skin flicker through mother oak’s light.
From her thigh’s fold, a slow, golden honey drip
Marks time—stroked by a returning breeze,
Its chill paints a stream’s pebbles on cold skin.

Sun, a spider, crawls along her breast’s secret skin,
Her woven silk—memories, a wisp of touch.
My lips chase her breast’s last rivulets of water,
A sigh spills golden from her—deep, into light.
Between her thighs, one final honeyed drip—
Then stillness—skyward, the gasp of our breeze.

A drowned silence—death—our last honeyed drip.
Our shadows triumph where sun once ruled skin.
Skyward, the scent of our love—a nest in the breeze.