Daniela Oana - Poet and Photographer

Sweet Maple Tree 

Our incense lit

Smoke floats around

Wrapping our minds.

We breathe it in

We hold it in

Fusing into our blood,

Our eyes.

Our hands linked

Our minds joint

The smoke waltzes about.

Our exotic bare feet

Step into mud

Warming our feet,

Our blood.

We dance with the mud

With each other

The smoke

The moon.

Our hands paint our chests

Our shoulders

And necks

Dark like the night.

Our bare white skin

Shut under a layer of mud

Blends in with tree trunks.

We close our eyelids

Over the white of our eyes

And slowly we dance.

Our bodies held as one

Our hair in the wind

Into a tree we mold.

Our soft smooth lips -

The only pale colour -

We savour like syrup

From a maple tree.

Through the smoke in our eyes

Our fingers like roots

Wrap us closer yet.

Growing through the smoke

They grant us - you and I -
Great lengthy lives.

Our blissful nights

Will never end

Nor will the smoke

Ever blow away.