Honey Love

In flowering fields nature yields, the sweetest taste of Summer.

Her warm embrace and sun-kissed face, Love has a taste called Honey Love.

A work, a feat, not bittersweet, she is complete, in Honey Love.

She’s spun in air, and when I’m there, she’s beautiful and vibrant.

And when aloft her touch, so soft, my memory’s a Rembrandt.

I watch her spin, and take it in, sweet light to guide the imagery.

In amber hues, she knows all cues, she’s wiser than a mystic.

She flows so sweet the taste’s complete, I’m filled to overflowing.

She’s hard, she’s soft, she’s still aloft, her textures are mindblowing.

She comes around, with slow soft sound, it’s like she’s everflowing.

Enfolding me, I learn to see, the rapture found in Honey Love.

The song, the dance, the sweet romance, it is a place in Honey Love.

So let’s go there, just leave your chair, forever live in Honey Love.

Namaste, let it go, do yoga: Dancing with myself and God.