PROMISE

Some blue morning flowers around
we'll go sweetly hands in hands

to listen the stories the creek murmurs
to the easy amazement of naked stones...

Lover, we will not speak a single word
our eyes will speak the language of magic

and the breeze will come quietly, unexpectedly
not breaking the spell of the enchanted hour

later... like a bunch of beautiful fresh grapes
—cut from the vine by unskilled hands—

I'll leave in your mouth with a little fear
my first kisses' ignored flavor...