glowing hot like iron
moving up and down
and up and down in a
molten slumber, much
at love with the noise of
beginning, smiling warmly
a peaceful mouth with
resting feet propped
wine dropped within reach
the red dirt under.
Hunger moves the feet, (modest steps
for a modest treat ) - some
dusty fruit, but inside
warm and well, a clean
bite now and back to rest
our fine prey is fell.
The bright moon spills out
across an earthen floor and
we are illumined.
1 comment:
I like the rhythm of this, and most especially, "the red dirt under"
(...however, what is more than always a love of red dirt under, is a love of under me you)
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