The woods in evening when mist rises from lowground the very earth is breathing. When it is still dark pulls at boots and makes walking slow the trees drip with dew.
The underbrush pushes against his thighs water runs in his jeans. He walks the path and the fall of his foot sounds like a grunt offered up the response to the call of the trees.
He remembers the dream recurring each night a ritual of wanting a spark of lust illuminating in himself a side he has not seen.
She always moves toward him from some far comer of the dream and all the private things he holds within his head and heart she brings awake.
Her face is framed by the full moon she straddles his hips and wraps around him all her love and all that she can give.
Her hair each lock flows inward with the night and stars bum up she kisses him.
She rocks a sensuous dance to the rhythm of a drum. His heart jumps he holds her he speaks forbidden tongues.