Dream Poem by Petra Novakova

The contours of my body, the sharp angles of yours,
we fit together as if sculpted by the same soft hands.
Sweat glistening on your brow, my breath warming your skin,
and the clouds above, all so jealous of the passion of our sin.
How quiet it gets when we reach the shore, bodies but shells
as even the birds become nothing more but silent sentinels.
When we finally calm down, sweetly tired beside a stream,
the grass smells greener, the world is a meadow, a dream.