Into the very crevices of rocks and tree-roots,
When the wolves and crickets join the cacophony,
Of night creatures howling grievances to the moon,
As he leaves his darkly silent womb-
I die a sweet, aching death.
At night when mottled fungi awake
To the empyreal dome arching above,
When dewy-eyed flowers luxuriate
By the swiftly streaming brook,
As he picks up the lurking scent and prowls-
I wait for him with bated breath.
At night when an errant moon coerces the sea waves
And they wax and wane in a fury of confusion;
When sea men pray in vain for deliverance
From the vengeful wrath of mighty Neptune,
As I open the door to his urgent embrace-
I drape my desire, over my yearning breast.
(In memory of D.H Lawrence)