I remember that summer,
one day in particular,
we were lying in the tall grass,
she and I, holding hands,
and she naming
each butterfly or bird
that flew above our heads
in the blue blue of sky.
That's a Comma,
she said, and that's
a Small Copper,
and the butterflies
would flutter past
over head.
A tractor sounded
from a further field.
Birds sang;
a pheasant called.
I watched the flight
of a Sparrowhawk above us
and it hovered there
seemingly ages,
then dived out of sight
to ****** its prey.
She turned
and we kissed.
Lips on lips,
soft, gentle,
not pushed
nor rushed,
but soft landed
like a butterfly,
natural not lustful,
not knowingly,
but so shy.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
I remember that summer,
one day in particular,
we were lying in the tall grass,
she and I, holding hands,
and she naming
each butterfly or bird
that flew above our heads
in the blue blue of sky.
That's a Comma,
she said, and that's
a Small Copper,
and the butterflies
would flutter past
over head.
A tractor sounded
from a further field.
Birds sang;
a pheasant called.
I watched the flight
of a Sparrowhawk above us
and it hovered there
seemingly ages,
then dived out of sight
to ****** its prey.
She turned
and we kissed.
Lips on lips,
soft, gentle,
not pushed
nor rushed,
but soft landed
like a butterfly,
natural not lustful,
not knowingly,
but so shy.
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