Wanderlust

I want us to ride a tiger,
fur sleek with sandalwood,
out through the bamboo forests
under paper lanterns
and firecrackers that snap the night.
We will ride him bareback
through market stalls of blue tile,
on magic carpets of indigo
and let hennaed fingers
run through our hair
and taste saffron on the summer breeze
that blooms like red orchids.
We will hunt for jade eggs and silver combs
along the silk road
and let our feet find their way to Kathmandu
where we can hear the shimmer of brass bells
and feel the shiver of glass beads
sparkling the dark and our skin,
exploding the night in warm honey.

I want us to steer a sloop
sails unfurled like music
into the green flash of Islamorada
and search for flying fish
among the coral fans and spiny urchins.
We will sleep upon warm sand
through the deep velvet of night
under Casuarina trees
and let steel drum music
lull us to sleep
and taste the rich fire of cane rum
that comes in tin cups.
We will get our cards read and fortunes told
under a palm tree
and let our souls carry us to Curacao
where we can smell Frangipani and summer
and count stars like milk glass marbles
shimmering the sea and our hearts,
blanketing us in wanderlust.