Summer Sonnet

‘Neath moonless dusky sky hung low and deep

 Dark clouded dense with teeming moist and heat

Across crisp grass in hillocks small and steep

Sweet blades that bleed when crushed by cooled wet feet

By pond where crickets trill a fervent song

Where night moths wing toward lumen far aloft

Your hand takes mine and pulls me firm along

Past rushes’ winded sway and quiver soft

On clover bed aside the liveoak tree

‘Neath shroud of pitch and hidden from close sky

Your mouth on mine and warm your hands on me

Pull near and press so hard against my thigh

Your skin against my skin against my heart

That quickens as reserve begins to part