Make passage like the river when at the foothill of you

To where you fill into me and I have my fill of you

There we lay, moonlit in embrace, tending until rose-bloom

That garden-bed which in crease and crumple smells still of you

Our drizzle of amour as a perfumery of soul:

Ache in the essence of mine, pine is a distill of you

To glimpse the dance of flame before the whirl of purging fire

While entwined in gaze I sit at the window sill of you

When so deep in the woods to the sway of a primal rhythm

Kneel for the hounds of desire to make what they will of you