In drunken love, on woodland wine...a satyr god and maiden roll upon the flower strewn ground. Laughter peel's among the trees, sun dappled leaves, all cares and decorum forgot...for joyous lust's, have taken them.
Yet, these are not of spirits, turned, but yearnings ripe, indeed divine, upon the leaves lay'd down for them, beneath the boughs, upon their bellies, wet with life. Shared passion's spent, burrowed, beat...furrow flogged, ploughing pant...breathing's leap, to rhythm of an ancient thing.
As, "oh...my God!", such, grasping, gushing, giving, sate of everything...in one rush, "oh...oh yes! yes! yes!" So...lay a moment more, thus. Rest...as time forgot, returns, to dear relief...until, strong arms shade fair lips, supple'y suckl'ing their nest, where all desire is born.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: Antoine Calbet, satyr and maiden
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