Don’t tell me

I know,

I know.

Sitting here looking at you right now, the orange blossoms swaying in the distance, a trembling fragrance in the breeze.

Don’t tell me

I know what you will taste like.
A pearl of water on a leaf in an inlet by the mouth of the river.
A sand dune, thirsty, the wind from the East.
Wild strawberries behind the fallen birch in the overgrown field,
we scar our way through the thorns to find the sweetness.

I know

I know your skin.
It will give, and soften, the fires churning in this touch.
The tips of our fingers will collide like wildflower honey tastes in the autumn.

Don’t tell me

Your eyes.
A reflection on the still lake water,
glass shards of ice flow on the sunny spring shore.
A fallen tree,
knarled roots exposed,
a body truly at rest.

Don’t tell me

I know.