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first Sunday of spring

we stole away

under the welkin’s sapphire groin

–

to be alone, together

on that narrow bed,

bodies taunt

your body nude

–

thighs capriciously yield,

your sex, carpel-like &

emergent as Venus Rising

–

I trace your warm sticky,

your lips a blossom’d rose;

woman’s taste

your familiar taste

–

til we commingle, repeating

that Ancient duad ritual

as the honey flows and flows