Seven seas

I dance to the windswept scent
of the flower bed that’s blooming

and walk to the sundrenched colour
of the bottle-brush in Spring.

I run to the overarching weakness
of the sunshine fading

and lie next to the smell of baby milk
that is the stunning bosom, bearing.

I sleep to the suppressed reality
of the sub-conscious, unaware

and wake to the noisy miner bird
singing joyful tunes at sunrise.

I live to see the wonder
of your gleaming eyes at morn’

and greet my mortality
like a feather flying 
through the thinnest air with ease - 

ending in the unknown
after sailing seven seas.