The forest welcomed her
With myriad open trunks.
She swallowed
The deep sweet deposit
Of dew on the drowsy rose,
Then lay upon the lawn
Naked and profane,
A creased sheet in the eve
Soaked through with passion;
“Make no mistake
My dear,
You’ve lost your way,
I’m the guiding voice
And you’ve nothing but me
to fear.

Here.
Where the queer meets a quarry
and the Queen is questioned
by pests
I’ll never surrender my love
Until I’ve whet your slender breast
And taken your breath
Made into mysteries,
Silent as a changing season.

Lucid in all lingerie,
Elusive and eloquent;
A humming bird made
in Pity.”