Your golden wheat at sunrise colored hair floats in the atmosphere
As overgrown prairie grass sways in the Chinook.
The integrity of a developed cottonwood is know from far off;
So too is the strength of your shoulders.
Your lips match the delicate sweetness of wild roses,
And one touch would only leave me wanting to pick more.
We could arrange an entire bouquet,
but Instead I'll laugh nervously and chunky-thigh dance out.