p o e t r y

first time
 

my angel's
breathing
butterflies,
she is
blooming roses
with a scent
that only
youth supplies,
that very
afternoon
at sunset
she landed
in my garden
on the balcony,
cuddled up
to a chair
beneath a tree

I asked her in
and gave her fruit,
prepared a tea,
we took a
little rest
in bed,
just her and me
still fully dressed,
like my expectant eyes
her smile was bright

we both knew
then
that everything
would happen
in the darkness
of the room
that night