By Gala
Date: 4 April 2001
Shaking of the Sheets
The rushes are near flat,
what sweetness they knew
were spent those coldish nights
when the fire beneath the covers
burned and crested and raised
sweet sweat you drank
in small sips from lips swollen near sore---
So out with them,
and in with fresh bedding,
sprinkled with herbs and flowers
I gathered by moon light,
here and there cloves and cinnamon
then fat ticks to cover them all,
releasing the sweetness
when you press against me
and whisper my name
warm against my breast.
The blankets we will store for autumn,
and instead we will lie beneath a sheet
almost gossamer---
your heat and mine
ah love---
tumble me to this fresh bed,
push aside the skirts,
and catch me to you
until my breath is hoarse,
and take me like the wanton
you see in my eyes
when your hands have done their devilment,
your lips have wreaked havoc,
and your touch is all I require
to sing in the Spring.
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