Your hair: 6
My vocabulary: 0
(after extra time)
There`s something biblically sinful
about the redness of your hair,
sumptuous,almost carnal.
Roget has failed me,
my PhD in bartalk insufficient.
I`m running out of midnights,
howling by the adjectival waterfall,
my image harvester run aground.
For you,I will be il tuo primitivo ,
a hewer of wood,a fisher of seas
and all that pagan stuff,
cavemannish in my wanting.
I move your name about my mouth,
your spell of seven syllables entrances,
I drift in dreamfilled sleep,
tracing the meander of your curls.
