Golden grape-vine

Golden grape-vine

Gold grapes trapped within your mouth,
sweet smells of childhood summer
on your fingers.

The narrow place between market benches.

Scents in the air...
With eyes closed I can see
spots of sweat on your t-shirt,
in the basket

onions between spices
tied with white strings,
five tomatoes, garlic, dill,
parsley and thyme...
carrots, only two.

In the pot, chicken soup.

Two of us
connected like Lady and the Tramp
with
.......the
.............same
....................soft
...........................noodle
................................ before our lips touch.

Just a dream...

Depression hard, dense and hot
like dark summer clouds
entered the windows
in the middle of the afternoon.

Between my fingers mashed potatoes,
my revenge on innocent vegetables.

I miss you.

Feelings like the sacred oil on water,
never fading never ending always growing,
like grape-clusters on the golden grape-vine
at the entrance to my sanctuary.

A wonderful writes Sonja
so well express it
thanks for sharing with us
your wonderful work!

Love, light and Sound

Maria