Sonnet of the Grateful Girl

Babe, where you going?
“To the jasmines.”
“No kiss?”
“With my mouth in the morning.”
Sunshine flared in her eyes.
Bugles were crying in my blood.

“And you?”
“Wherever you are.”
“And your apple?”
“In you.”
It already was in me. Jasmines
bloomed sweetly in the gardens of her breath
and sunshine roared in her body.

With the sun and solitude, on a tiny rug
lying there by its corner of shade
I won out over the jasmine that withers.

There was a warm peacefulness on her hip . . .
“Babe, where you going?”
“Wherever you want
where your shade can be my pillow.”