When you saw me across the river,
You fondled the leaves of your belt
You tasted the blood from your chapped lip,
Curious to see if my dress was soft enough to rip
Or if your eyes could make me melt.

When you saw me across the river,
You begged for things I could not give.
So you took my body instead,
Asked for it to split-open and spread
As you commanded it to die and then live.

When you came to me across the river,
You tapped my forehead three times,
Sputtered your spells into my ears.
No sweeter sounds would I ever hear,
As you covered me in lavender and thyme.

When you came to me across the river,
My hunger for the wood was already there,
I thirsted for the waters that ran beneath us.
All I had thought I wanted was superfluous,
As above me you pounded and zestfully stared.

When you were finished with me in the river,
I was tempted to ask for your name,
Only to learn that here roamed many a wood-devil,
Those who keep the wild lands fruitful and leveled,
And turn people like you and I untame.