amidst a mass
of luscious grass
and beauteous floral grace,
she lies suppine
with jewels of brine
that shine upon her face.

her mind springs wings
in spiral rings
it flies in azure skies,
remembering
that sainted thing
now tainted with his lies.

in days that died
he'd raise his bride
and guide her to this place,
to lay her down
on thistledown
as soft as new sewn lace.

with heartfelt pride
his fingers plied
her clothing's silken ties,
and through the guise
in lover's eyes
fever began to rise.

in sun's sweet rays
and heated haze
her soul began to spin.
his yearning lear
a burning spear,
that seared her naked skin.

his fingertips
parting her lips,
his tongue upon her breast,
igniting fire
of pure desire
that swept her to the crest.

but time has flown
and with it grown
a coldness born of lust,
now, caring less,
his tenderness
has crumbled into dust.

in breeding greed,
he takes no heed,
a victim of his genes,
his selfish need
now takes the lead
and she is but the means.

love now asleep
he plunges deep
and takes her without care
his spurting seed
the vital deed,
of her he's unaware

she dries her eyes
with stifled sighs
and rises to her feet,
now knows her mind,
no longer blind,
it's time to greet defeat.

Copyright © 2002 Lynne den Hartog. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.