Love-Play Poem by Fay Slimm

Like shook stardust stuck to
expectant day
moon-greased fuel
eases contemplation of best
school for love-play.

Fate weathers and tests the
metal of lovelight,
doubt arises when class
in Propriety dies of infatuation
one dark midnight.

Desire's needle-fine growth
of anticipation
starts under the skin
and quickly unfolds to a real
need for tasting.

Love will, when meeting at
passion's gate
unhesitatingly open,
knowing at bloom time buds
always awake.