Beneath willow canopies
Under the beams of a crescent moon,
I trek the musky marsh
Following the mournful songs of a loon.
His call is a haunting echo
Clinging thickly to the fog
It surrounds the dampened moors
Creeping slowly across the bog.
Flighty is the bird I seek
From across the darkened bayou
Dampened though my spirits be
I begin my search anew.

I'll make love to the sun
languishing in its embrace.
Subtle kisses from my God
caress my waiting face.
His tongue fills my mouth
bringing tiny gasps of pleasure.
His velvet skin scorches me
like a lover's fiery treasure.
His white hot breath
whispers into my ear.
His breathy reassurances
ease my every fear

More poetry at: http://poetical2008.blogspot.com/

Contributed by:~Elizabeth Blevins