From our Hobbit house
nestled between
orchids and canna lillies
with a garden of bromeliads
sprouting from its roof,
you can hear the ghostly howls
of the monkeys
the bereft cries of the owls
the electric trilling of the birds
the honking of pink-tongued geese
as they strut up and down
the landscaped paths
like haughty lords.
I embrace you
as a liana winds around an oak,
as the ficus clutches at the soil
with its twisted fingers
and climbs halfway to heaven,
as the blushing sacuanjoche
parts its lips
to drink the morning light.
Your kisses are sweeter than passion fruit
your touch lighter than
a dragonfly's wings.
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