Reclining on the garden bench,
leaning on my shoulder,
your eyes intently watch
something, I notice, though,
in my book,I am engrossed.

Taking eyes off the page,
I scan the the fecund garden,
abuzz with bees, chirping birds,
all kinds of hums and songs of life,
                                  spring brings,
and then, my eyes catch
that scene:your object of intense interest,

Two mating birds, in their frenzy of love;
two love struck mandarin ducks, very colorful.
                                   It's in this season they find, their pair,
                                    and give themselves to shameless lust,
                                   gentle tune of their bodies turning,
                                    intense, scorching their *****.

You withdraw, feeling shy
on your voyeuristic streak,
which i found out, inadvertently,
*but your eyes, cryptically,
make inquiries to me,
"Interested?" I whisper"Of course'
that sounds like an evil hiss