She's spread there,
Dalya, legs
set aside,
in the tent
that we share,
lying there
in dim light,
her soft fruit
on offer,
the two small
melon *******
her dark fig
waiting for
me to push
plough or kiss.
There's music
from speakers
blaring out
in the camp,
voices calling
from other
tents nearby.
I engage
her beauty,
handle fruits
of melons,
open up
the dark fig
(not apple)
enter in,
plough her trench
with fine skill
without sense
of time's clock
or moral scorn,
just us here
making love
in tent's hold
keeping out
dark night's cold.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
She's spread there,
Dalya, legs
set aside,
in the tent
that we share,
lying there
in dim light,
her soft fruit
on offer,
the two small
melon *******
her dark fig
waiting for
me to push
plough or kiss.
There's music
from speakers
blaring out
in the camp,
voices calling
from other
tents nearby.
I engage
her beauty,
handle fruits
of melons,
open up
the dark fig
(not apple)
enter in,
plough her trench
with fine skill
without sense
of time's clock
or moral scorn,
just us here
making love
in tent's hold
keeping out
dark night's cold.
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