Gem Midsummer

David Ethan Kennerly. Summer 2000.

Green field, become honey in her soft gaze,
implores the eye to dive in ocean black
necessity. A fleck of field betrays
a wink's concealed crescent eyelash attack.

Mmm. Marigold a-blossom dripping dawn
in flower fragrant shower morning dew,
caressing whipping tendril hair upon
hot, smiling cheeks. Her spaded hands, which knew
a youthful grief of Sun's old children's death,
embrace his back. The moment's wounded lies,
lulled by a gentle kiss. On wind's gray breath,
sings Hallelujah over city sighs.

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