She is lightly floating upon her own pendulum
And the ants go forth under her feet as though shaded
In sweet comfort by the mere nearness in electric
Blue of her hum and vibration reaching their red legs.
The sounds of his own groaning in late afternoon
Among scented pines wispily bending towards her
Dark countenance in humble adoration, is one of boy
Clumsily still hoping her breasts will somehow burst
And gush forth the milk of his true youth and spill
Along his cheeks and run to his chest and down
Further to pool among same small creatures below. Her
Hands come to his face and she breathes in a moan.