Witching Hour

I saw you on the dance floor

dancing by yourself,

as if you the music was for you only,

making love to your body.

I took a few slugs

bided my time and orbited you

like a satellite,

hoping you’d see me as your moon.

We grew closer to each other

with the gravity of feeling;

our feet were on the ground,

our minds were on the ceiling.

You started grinding on me

and I caught your scent;

I was like a tiger.

I wanted you in bed.

We were circling so close now,

your hair gently brushed my cheek.

My lips were near your neck now;

you quivered as you spoke.

You took me by the hand

and we fled and hailed a taxi.

You said, ‘Shakespeare Street, drive’

and we were kissing in the back seat.

And my hand inched up your leg

to the peak of your desire;

you were a mountain,

I was the climber.

We tumbled into the sheets

and we rose 

inwards and outwards

like the moon-pulled sea.

We slept for a while,

I awoke and from my wing

I plucked a single feather,

held it gentle in my hand.

I brushed your inner thigh,

lightest touch, awakening you;

then I inhaled, descended, gulped deeply.

I kissed your body like the land.