She climbs the dizzying heights to where I buried my heart. Harvesting my words on her way, she plucks the neglected fruit and with each step, seeds my blood again. She scatters whispers and shouts of joy, and meets me
in beds of passion
with words woven, dances spun
I melt into you
when my dance is done. My feet fly me to the dizzying heights where she planted her heart. Rivers of desire stream behind me like the ribbons she once laced through my shoes, running rampant through her beautiful words. She bursts into bloom, and I dance.
Photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers by Magaly Guerrero: