Sway

by on November 6, 2016 :: 0 comments

Ecru weave, damp from rain.
The fresh of a rainy morning, light softened gray, a fade of blue and sun hazed out.
Taking a seat on the swing, motion makes the sway.

In the muggy air, the handles sweat on mugs of chilled coffee.
The aroma faint, the taste rich.
My attention is on those eyes of his.
He is huddled in a cocoon naked in comfort.
The gleam and grin on his face makes me sway.

Listening, learning, revealing.
Thoughts tumble out, questions raised.
Laughter and a smile.
Swinging or floating? I can not tell the difference when looking across to him as I sway.

The sun breaks across the space.
There is calm and quiet. The rain has slowed from drizzle to mist. Then we rise and embrace as we walk away.
Leaving only the sway.

– Dawn Marie

editors note:

So sweet to swing in this sway. – mh clay

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