ADONIS BY MOONLIGHT

Upon a breeze brushed night in June,

I watched him moonbathing
Down by the twitchy slough.

The moonlight filtered through
The sighing cottonwoods
And dappled him just here, just there,
His skin glowed tan, no, rose gold,
As it responded to the artistry of light.
He knew I watched him
And knowing, presented himself,
The lavish perfection of himself, like a young god,
Like Adonis offering himself up
To some heated Venus,
Or Priapus in search of Diana.
I watched him stroke himself to tumescence,
With sensual, seductive, lazy touchings,
The moonlight shadowing and
Softening his movements,
And I felt my heat rise,
A violent, lustful crave for him,
A wanting so great
It near unseamed my soul,
And I rushed, unmindful of brambles
And the clutch of vines,
And flung myself submissive and prone
Upon the ground and worshipped at his feet.
He raised one foot, negligent and bare,
And pressed it to my lips; "Lick," he said,
And my Persona of Submission rose about me
In stifling waves
And I bent my head and loved him.

George W. Martin