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There was no fog, just chill under the moon.
It X-rayed my white, silk dress.
Rough saw grass chafed my legs.
Moonlight dipped almost underwater
As I felt him, lapping.
So silvery that light, I felt singed.
I smelled a mauve, sea-like perfume,
Appropriate to the moment.
Then, Malcolm stood and undid
My dress, the half above the belt,
While the ocean sobbed and soughed and sounded
And I was sweating despite the April cool.
It was nigh midnight or so, and I was waiting,
Dreaming of his entrance.
And then he lowered me, wet, so wet,
Against the soft, wet grass,
And all of me opened, ripe, vivid.
I flinched-like a finch in a cat's velvet paws.
The moon swam white as eyes
Through the black water of trees.
-Betty
July 02, 2008
George Elliot Clarke Receives Order of Canada Appointment
June 03, 2008
Gasperau Press Titles Displayed in Alcuin Awards Exhibits
July 04, 2008
New Releases From Gaspereau Press
