nithchie

tropic of cancer
southern exposure
tropical sweet voice
scented like bougainvillea
growing lazily along
the country long fences

stringing me along
as a melody
in a foreign tongue
scented like jasmine
lying lazily beside me
the moisture ours alone

yielding and receptive
a vessel for my
never-ending interest
woven like the cotton
fashioned simply into fabric
taken along with me