Bough of Delight

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Wandering through the bough past thistles and grasses

 that scratch our legs and thighs and move us deeper and deeper along

You turn to me, with your red, rose mouth wide, and, stock still,

I grasp your pressing, urgent kiss.

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I fear I am drowning now deep in this mist of love and desire

that is rising and coursing through my bloodstream.

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The sun swims on the river, rippling like a surface snake,

Bouncing glistening globs of water into the trees.

Only our breath makes sound. But Time, as ever is fleeing,

And a curtain of night descends and glooms the glen

So we clamber back through the dark thickets and muddied paths,

and part, as we came, two strangers unknown.