My thoughts of him curl and bud in the grapeyard
as the vines dream of a pulp fruit and  wild trees
with each quiver of every lip that tastes  thee,
singed in each pulsing verse of this femme bard.
My thoughts do ripen and unroll the cloud
for gold to come out and caress greenness of the fruit
and fasten down the thorns, call out his nature's intuit
till it protrudes luscious inside, alarming! aloud!
And my thoughts will disobey me, strangely teased,
till his presence is firm as a mountain, renewed
infront me, defenceless, strong as leafless tree, nude
and dreams are suited, thirst quenched and pain is eased.
So I spread my boughs in a lovely garment of the Spring
pretending to be enchanted, moondreaming forest
guarding all the future, rooting up in the sky, finest
core.....quietly harking what the Summer shall bring.