Hawthorn petals gently rain
In faerie kisses lightly lit;
They fall upon her pale, pure brow,
A soft, white veil of spicy scent.
There dwells she in moss-dark shadows
‘Neath the ancient trees young-wise;
Dabbles she her fingers in
The sweetest spring betwixt her legs.
Nectar oozes down her hands
Whilst moonlight shimmer cups her breast;
Her well of fragrant, shining liquid
Opens wide, the sun to greet.
Waits she there in black-green shadows,
Swollen passions waked and keen;
Waits she simply for her love,
The molten heart of deep desires.
Fetches he the violent thrusting,
Quenching fire with scalding pearls;
He offers all for hungry wetness:
She leaves the shadows bright with joy.
This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
