Your ear like a shell, cream-coloured
And tinged with a flush
Around the smooth edges,
Almost transparent
In the early sun.
Your skin like finest sands
With the dawn upon them.
A curling lock of your dark hair,
Lank on your forehead,
Moist with the night.
Your neck proudly arched,
Like a harp’s harmonic curve,
Strings echoing a chiming clock.
And when I rest my head on
Your youthful breast
I hear the faint sound of passing time…
©jsmorgane