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
