barbara ann smith

Not a Word

There were no words
our eyes
reveal notions and cerebrations.
Autumn leaves
red, orange and yellow
dance in the air
dip and sway
like colorful birds in the sky.

A blustery wind
whispers in our ears;
and the celestial sphere
covers us in a warm blanket.
A mockingbird serenades
high and low octaves; and
a woodpecker,
plays his drum off beat
across the way.
A squirrel
leads the music,
as his bushy tail flips back and forth.

Flesh against flesh,
lips explore
a warmness ignites and a flame rages
a glorious union.
Pine trees dance and rustle,
dropping cones,
as the earth swallow our body heat.
Blackbirds squawk complaints:
a peacefulness melts the breath of life
and not a word's spoke.