The ravishment is thorough…
Nothing is left untouched.
Takes it’s loving punishment heroically.
Like any battlefield,
It supports all the skirmishes of lovemaking
Only easily… eagerly…sweetly.
The love historian. Recording it all.
Storing every fiber, every ounce
Of emotion, every thought, every feeling
He, who is the ravisher…becomes, in turn, the ravished.
The mounded topography of entwined bodies
Adoringly undulate against
And with each other.
The heavenly bodies seem to spin faster
and grow brighter
With each mutual caress.
Misshapen crescents and stars of silvery moonlight
slide upon the lovers’ skin
in an attempt to burn and etch
themselves forever there.
The ravishment is done…
They are spent…they are satiated.
They are ONE.