Dayn Schulman
The Dew Drop RosesThe dew drop roses
that I bring her by day,
turn into her blood by night,
in shy light,
I can see her cheeks blushing,
the color of an evening wine.I reach out for her hand
and find it half-way,
reaching for mine.
She rests my hand on her breast,
we breathe deep and our hearts,
ancient incandescent cinders,
fuse forever...Having found each other
in these swirled dilemmas
is like finding footing
in a riptide
or a beacon of light
in a storm.