Harvest's Fable

She sits alone
nestled gently under hooded folds
of alabaster white
and ever deepening shades of pinkish golds
Sleeping quiet
protected by lover’s petals yet to furl
she beckons me
the glistening dewdrop of Sappho’s pearl
Her floret’s fervor held within siren song
upon her Master’s charge she doth belong

Taper’s flame
fiery drawn along soft and tender thigh
approaching flesh
Master, please, allow Your girl her chance to fly
Ankles risen
desire’s blossom, moist, commences bloom
in saturated flush
reaching, closer, losing herself in ecstasy’s tomb
Her essence awakened, open, seeking breath
Crying out, edging, ever closer to life’s little death

Candle cants
and searing waxed liquer cascades translucent red
on garden’s path
Trails of aching pleasure nearing maiden’s head
wanting still
induced, the gates of Lesbo, unencumbered, open
fount uncovered
the wail released, a cry to heaven, our Saints offend
her Master’s touch deign pluck His sought for jewel
in time, my dear, you shall tend the gardener’s tool

A field should not be left in fallow nor to over grow
Tis a Master’s love that provides her flowery show