The Ninth

This body,
a river splitting deep woods,
a rushing babble over rounded pebbles.
The doe lowering her head, takes drink,
arching sinuous neck

that reflects in ripple water.
That neck in memory, fevered dreams –
arching back and forth, hair whipping.
Your knees bent alongside rising hips,
this river splitting your fragrant wood.

2 thoughts on “The Ninth

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