In My habitué

I found you, again in my habitué;

When the dulcet of wind kisses on your skin,

And gossamer scarf falls down from thy back;

The view of your skin and bones, the ebony hair;

Though your behind enshrouded in the mist,

Appears as a brushed up oeuvre,

Of a defile’s start by the shore;

 All fueled my fancy….!!

 

Now, to slake my feelings,

I come and breathe to your ear…

‘There is no hearth other than this, and…

Time is nigh to get you deflowered!!! ‘

 

Being a seer;

I can still hear the cry of your womb and fruit,

The fruit of our loins yet to sprout.

I want to enjoy the care of our ripe,

Until we sleep beneath the sod…

 

Yes, I’m now riding the white horses,

Approaching towards the shore,

And girding my loins to fertile thy land,

Before the heavens open.