Morning Magic

I heard sparrows trill this morning
to arouse the day.

My eyes, desirous of remaining closed,
retained the imprint of you

as the fragrance of summer rose
drawn by warmth from sun.

All my wishes coalesce into your lips
imagined on my resting skin,

firing the machine of fantasy
to mimic January heat

when children giggle through sprinklers
and dogs sag on porches.

Touch your fingers to seeds,
adrift on summer's breeze,
and send them to caress me.

I will love their feather brush,
incant to them a spell that holds the ocean
in a scallop shell

so you may step across
and kiss my waking lids;

relinquishing the make believe
for freshly conjured bliss.