my thoughts think
of her open meadow...
Rich moist unploughed pastures
that shivered at the misty breath
Of a dawn's rude awakening;
Her undulating contours,
drenched with a dew of morning passion
stretched and writhed
beneath me as
The warm lust of a new sun rising
Cast pearls,
fragile as fantasies,
Upon the open thighs
Of her valley, and
I was free to wander
as far as fantasy could take me but...
i lay silent in the dream
for fear the fantasy might forsake me.
