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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) With a rose in one hand, I scent and slip on the moon's silken light, a negligee that makes me glisten slender and pale before you. Pines shadow the skyline with their dark spires and you approach me here, under this archway of trees, this shrine of fragrance and timeless sanctity. The night air grows still. Its warmth lands on my hand like a dove, a messenger saying you have come to tend my longing, to lay me under the stars' joyous glance, and share the communion of lovers. To know more about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) 
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