Among strangers
she would steal a stare,
speak of Egypt, China
in no uncertain terms,
of social mores,
decadence, moralities
old and new.

Alone, as the sex
matured between us,
her eyes caressed like lips,
she rose, explaining that
a bit of honey dew
would prolong the moment,
sweeten the scent,
wet the dust to be
mingled with mine forever.


We left the others
and wandered in dark fields
after harvest --
wanting solitude and each other --
cold spinster sweat
and a moist godlessness
that comes pagan from
the give of the brown earth below,

the warmth of your mouth
in the damp black night,
the smell of fresh cut corn,
no moon, just touch,
the moist fear of your eyes
the only discernible sight.

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