Early Summer Sex

 

I have been flirting with

the ladies of May this month:

afternoons spent with redolent rhodies –

bursts of color drip onto my tongue.

Strawberry pistil and peach stamen

curl in delicate arcs to nibble

on my ear and give me chills.

In the sultry evening,
I drop on trembling knees

before sweet lupine, drinking sugar

from sticky lips, my black-fly

proboscis wet with juices – hers and mine.

I moan as I investigate her fragile recesses.

At night I bury my face into the

moist petals of iris – a deep purple flash

in my eyes as fold within fold unveils

smooth, succulent surprises.

We roll apart with a sigh.

I stand, swipe the back of my hand

across my mouth and stagger,

stretch and lick lilac. The scent

closes my eyes. I inhale

all the bouquet she offers.

A morning stroll past plump lavender,

and I give her a pinch. In her

excitement, she clings to

my fingers. I secretly

smell her again and again.

Noon. I join baby blue eyes

on the ground, naked in the light.

We listen to a honey bee lullaby

and cuddle until, spent in the sun,

I sink into the damp summer soil.