in the midst of it

there, there, right there in that corner
that’s where it was kept, my burning held
dear and close to these things that line
the walls with photos, brings soft music
to the night with finger tips, minted kisses
the roughness of your hands, the low
and mellow tones warm my skin
like Santa Ana’s breathe in summer
where palm trees meet mesquite thorns
the tears of those things lost, found again
lay upon the cottons of this bed with
tangled legs that beg for dancing days
and you there in your solid blues
turn an eye upon the moment to stop
Pan’s playing leading toward meadows
seed with poppies golden happiness
sway with breezes scented with Pacific
mist that crawls the hills, hides my fervor
burning now together in the midst of it all.