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The Night

Outside their window, freestone limbs swelled
with purple buds.  The spring air hung

with the musty smell of new weeds.
Still in winter bedclothes, the night

was warm and sweaty.  He could not sleep.
At odds, he could not assuage his penis

from gorging on his thick blood; he could
not resist from penetrating her with slow,

deliberate thrusts.  A night bird sang
a melody soothing as Mozart.  Shining

with caress, the moon danced in a corner
as she stroked his buckling ribs.

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