Figment of Crushed Spices (on a summer afternoon)

clothed in saffron silk, her bare feet tread
close to the riverbank.
damp earth and grass muddy
the frayed edge of her sari

cinnamon goddess, one arm encircled with
emerald glass bangles, other graced
by a tamarind vine painted with henna

his lips whisper against her dusty wrist,
tongue traces a vein into the crook of her elbow

she shivers
her skin glistening, glittering brown
wine dark with desire

he inhales her rose jasmine hair,
smells leftover summer in her neck,
long, languid and revealed

her wind tangled hair, copper-glossed by the sun
and he, with breath scented like cloves and ginger,
kisses her and tastes water and earth.