Kiss me with warm latte lips,
wordless riddles with a caramel tongue
and light accent of sea salt,
touch of honey a slow flow
from cheek to shoulder.
Opening eyes to crafted gray clouds
clashing with blue,
we meet the crisp air and Nordic landscape,
we pick lavender and we breathe,
we're alone together in windswept wilderness.
Upon return we make an addition to the
rustic wooden rack of spices and herbs,
the fire is rekindled in the cottage;
I turn away from rising embers to again
entreat of your soothing nectar,
and I behold you in nothing at all,
nothing but delightful purple specks
of our harvested lavender.