There was no fog, just chill under the moon.
It X-rayed my white, silk dress.
Rough saw grass chafed my legs.
Moonlight dipped almost underwater
As I felt him, lapping.
So silvery that light, I felt singed.
I smelled a mauve, sea-like perfume,
Appropriate to the moment.
Then, Malcolm stood and undid
My dress, the half above the belt,
While the ocean sobbed and soughed and sounded
And I was sweating despite the April cool.
It was nigh midnight or so, and I was waiting,
Dreaming of his entrance.
And then he lowered me, wet, so wet,
Against the soft, wet grass,
And all of me opened, ripe, vivid.
I flinched-like a finch in a cat's velvet paws.
The moon swam white as eyes
Through the black water of trees.
July 04, 2008
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