Sycamore

There are hidden creeks
where on can gather sharks teeth
far from the ocean
with your skirt clutched about your waist
the water ripples past your knees
a sycamore leaf sticks for a moment
then continues downstream

In Passing

I am the wind
unfettered upon your body
raising the silken hair upon your arms
whispering freedom in your ear
dancing deftly between your legs
gently pushing your breast to their perfect swell
I leave you fresh
yet longing
for my next caress