~ Musing after Midnight O’ Her ~

~ Musing after Midnight O’ Her ~

On a stellar honeymoon,

For just four suckling Suns,

From thirty crescent grey moonets,

With herself,

Oh, she is lying in satin bed,

Goose down quilt stretched to her head,

Curious — more than the size of two silk bolsters — hair caressed,

Cold nipping,

Dark gripping,

Here, she is about to narrate,

Bystander to which she was,

A tale of a happily shallow brook,

Flowing beneath her window of pure timber wood,

Oh, listen, how it croons …

Yes, the songs,

Lilting hymns,

A flitting fable,

Of one not-so-fair girl and,

Her submission to the moon,

Her love of trees,

Trails,

Mallow grass,

Of quagmires,

Marshy lands,

Green water,

Lazy horses,

Swift squirrels,

Of how Butterfly colors got rubbed off on her,

Of one badminton match in the morning,

Another table tennis duel after dinner,

Lo! Birds twittering, chattering,

While she is making love to her muse,

Even after Midnight O’ Her …

Her long lost tender song overawed her,

In a rich, momentous seclusion — homing in zilch —

She is laughing, hugging and kissing her soul,

Euphorically — amused — here — only here,

With me,

Within me …