Her breath is milky with stars and violet
Ivy and wisteria hang from her thoughtful tongue
She wraps her powerful, tree-trunk thighs around Earth's waist
Her womb is cool, cavern depths with jade stalactites
Her finger spread wide, verdant maple leaves, and soft
Icy mountain rivers run between her breasts with every sigh
Her laugh is fingers sunk and tearing strawberry flesh
Crimson juices drip down to soil forearms and boulder elbows
Her irises are red waterfalls of lava, her pupils cold obsidian
Her tears are cracked pebbles of azure topaz tumbling and
Crumbling down the mountain-sides of her elevated cheekbones
The soft slopes of her collarbone are snowdrifts of pure powder, white
Follicles of orchards and vineyards grow from her whirlpool mind
Wine and water wander their way through her oaken veins
The gradual, inviting curves of her hips serve
As a cradle for deep valleys and ravines that divide the ranges
She is the sweet aroma of decomposing leaves and the intruding heat
Of the unabashed and golden summer sunshine
Her song is giggling creeks and vaporous, sighing geysers
Her skin is soft moss, too green to be called green
She is death
She is life
She is mother
Amai
5.17.16
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