I Blew The Dust Off His Black Velvet Wings Poem by Mark Heathcote

He touched me firstly in the sunlight
now I, him secondly, on a moonlit night.
Thirdly; he then touched that red, velvet velour.
It was then I'd lost count, and we sang amour -
amour - amour

Like coupled moths, we went passionately mad.
It was then I blew the dust off his black velvet wings.
O' then my heart and soul danced pattern-plaid.
In the weft of his dark pale limbs fittings
O' it was then I became his sun burning pleasure.
The moonlight I shivered longing lost to become her.
And then we rolled all day and night long—together.