Dreams in the Moon

While cherry trees are blooming scented pink
a poet sits beneath the boughs to think,
of words and passion poured into the ink
as love and lust empower souls to drink.

The vibrant rose damask against the sky,
her petals blushed and I alone know why,
when touched by lover's wayward butterfly
she gently kissed the night with passion's sigh.

The poet tastes her kiss on moonlight's air
and in a moment sets the heart to dare
reveal my love; perhaps embrace her there.

If whispered words can touch the springtide breeze,
and bring my lover's dearest heart some ease
while I, a poet, think beneath the trees.