you on a field of wild spring blooms,
the stars are shifting and there is the moon, this love of ours some prophets would say is doomed,
for you and i its just another tune.
slowly you roll over with the moonlight hitting your bare shoulders,
a wet flower runs its course,
snaking up your inner thigh,
the dew drops slowly multiply,
our lips touch and you sigh,
our eyes lock and we wait for the lies,
as our lust intensifies.