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A romantic encounter alongside a lake during a mayfly hatch at nighttime in June... |
Mayflies a sleepy moon arises into the June skies filled with glittering mayflies on a wing and a prayer together, as they flew as one with so many souls to count, these clouds of those who by innate, inner faith take to this path winging just above these waves that lash the abutment of that old boathouse, that sing those songs of the sounds of wavelets whose lullaby is exciting to those who seek sleek, velvet places where the songs sling them to, those long, humming voices heard along the lake's length, past hammocks suspended high between lover's nimble limbs for in the moonlit room where the French window's open screen let slip those tender figures of liquid speech, the sweet wine lifts to your soft, pliant lips as seemingly they mime the same sounds coming from just below the open French window now, both you and the waves murmur together the unmistakable sounds of lip-lip, sip ... lip-sip lip... over and over again as I add my own langour to the richness of this very night's tastes of liquid speech, only mine finds you in your nakedness within the clutch of moonlight gleam, atop the bed as you grasp the covers as I tease you at first, you glisten and you glitter in the softest light like the mayflies in final flight as the satin sheets ripple silverish and commingled as I seek to spread my languor further still, your sudden hitches of hidden breaths heave, trying to hide those lyrics you silently mouth to me as the waves entice down there below, that "lish-wish lip" lisped to me, deeper into a cadence of love that reaches all the way into your fingertips as I feel your nails trail their broad arcs, like billowing sails or upon the angular wings of a paired nighthawk's grail ... in our shadow- darkened room lit by passions and lunar fires, the corpses of tree shadows wash outside our window soon to meet the Sun's rising pyres help me urgently find the timeless tempo ... helps me find that very source of enormous release within your cornucopia folds from which just like the now-insistent waves lipping and lisp-lapping like a feline feeding for you are coming ... and coming ... rippling themselves repeatedly through your fingers across my shoulders, tugging muscles taut within my neck ripped like dock ropes upon the deck as I open your nectar flowing down ... down ... as your pleasure peaks and repeats upon itself, as the mayflies I release from within your chi chooses me as their lover this very night when, in that old boathouse as amid the crush upon crush of your waves of pure loving might, I hear them speak their magical chant repeating, oft heard speaking slip-slips-lip-chuff-splish-lishlash-woo-puff upon the sands of timeless truths spilling through the hourglass as the owl calls outright and the greenish, now-emptied bottle of sweet vermouth lays flat, you emerge to surface amid the myriad light diamonds upon your moon-kissed mouth that breathes the breath of love's desire sated, singing timeless songs in my arms as you, my beautiful mayfly, now having been freed of earthly bonds for a little while, are released as I kiss both of your closed, beautiful eyes enabling you, o' gentle lover, to take wing into the very depths of your deepest, deepest dreams... |