April Night
it was stepping out
from under eaves into rainfall;
soft spring rolling almost closer
than skin, they press into
each other, into chilled blur laced
with goose bumps and breath, warm as
a fissure in the clouds.

fingertips trill mourning dove
melodies drowned out by
rain. each touch blushes robin
red, starlit skin flowering
underneath. palms lure poetry to
the surface in each sigh and
raindrop whisper: blend of
words only between lips and
hands and fluttered eyes;
they are blooming.

this is the shower that sows
morning dew, drops pooling
in lilies—the scent of shadows along
her curves.

and this is not the prayer,
but the answer—the falling
kneeler and eyes-closed whisper
of an alleluia.

at dawn, when dew is gone and
dreams dissipate, he warms
her to the waking world and
she peeks through clouds like
sun in his shirt, crisp as spring,
just as she always wanted.

a/n: critiques wanted