the straddling vines are there, I know,
near the bedroom window,
dangling against a starless sky,
cascading the night, with a muted sly;
encroaching the intermittent silences,
between us, going places.
cashing in on my ignorance
of their senses,
compared to mine, immersed in her *****
and on her thighs, the straddling veins
shining on both, an eager moon, in vain
as the clouds moved in to veil my lay in.