Gay burlesque 3

into the filmy and flickering forest,

to start out again, triumphant.

Smooth, supple roundness, edged sharp as white ivory.

Cool, perfect, with rose rarely tinted in your lips,

and your breasts swelling out from the green

in the opulent curves of ripe fruit,

and ****** like fruit by the swift intermittence of leaves.

So, clinging to branches and moss,

you advance on the ledges of rock,

which hang over the stream.

What the wood smells about you, the pungence of strawberry

plants and of gullows and spruces,

while the low runs the water, impatient, impatient,

to take you, to splash you, to run down your sides,

to sing you of deepness.

Of the moon's brown and golden, with brown and gold flags

on their borders.

Of the low, lingering skies, floating solidly

over your beauty.

Of untuned waters, a sway in the effort

of the water with you, to keep you submerged and quiet,

while over you, glories are slumbered.

Orient, triad, or naiad, or just orbit,

clad only in you and in gallant perfection.

...