I was only a poor poet, made for singing at her casement,
As the finches or the thrushes, while she thought of other things
She walked so high above me, she appeared to my abasement,
In her lovely silken murmur, like an angel clad in wings!
As summer chimes enchorial, what chorus every morn
Of songbirds’ strung arboreal for Horus’ all reborn,
My wilder side ran rampant loose, so good to feel alive,
‘I should,’ I mused, ‘try & seduce’ the wives of Moniaive,
For they go out a-foraging when trees are leafy full;
‘Believe me when I say to thee thou art too beautiful,’
I’d purr to them cautiously keen, a cheek-stray’d hair to fix,
Whether they were a crisp sixteen or frisky fifty-six.
Round all the girls of Galloway a wicked rumour spread;
‘A man lives in the woods, they say, makes forest floors a bed,
& understands the secrets of the Birds which dwell above
& better still he speaks the words to rouse a woman’s love.’
Ours was a Xanadu that June, a ‘Cisco this July,
As August Harvest comes too soon, one half-mile from Dalry
I saw a pretty buxom lass with hair like knotted gold,
Which glimmer’d gladly as she pass’d into the woodland wold,
When startling her a moment, stepping out from breathing trees,
‘Relax,’ said I, ‘Sir, are ya he?’ ‘Perhaps…’ ‘Sir if ya please,
I beg ye to attend tae what,’ she purs’d her scarlet lips,
‘Has burst intae some harlet knot, some curse between mah hips.
I think about yers everywhere, about the things ye’ll dee
Tae me if ah could only share mah perfect fling wi’ ye,
Mah pussy is an aga-stove that’s ne’er bin left to cool,
Which I’ve ‘gan ardour grove-tae-grove tae find ye, like a fool!’
‘Perhaps,’ much flatter’d by her dream, ‘a little later dear,
First, let us sup these sweetly streaming hillside waters clear,
Then feast upon this tasty hare I’ve roasted with dry sticks,
I caught it in my woodland snare, I caught it with my tricks.’
As with that gaily-splendid lass I settl’d to a meal,
Sat in the ferly-scented grass, our conversations wheel;
Bones pick’d right clean we look’d up to the dappl’d canopy
Where bluebirds preen, & pluck’d a few red apple-lanterns free.
She chibb’d a bite, I watch’d her loose lips slip the flesh within,
Watch sev’ral little juice-drips dribble down her tilted chin,
Them melted in her cleavage, when compell’d to view the wedge,
I felt my loins’ thrust-leverage propel me from love’s ledge,
T’where I a tender kiss impart, planted on panting chest,
An inch or two above her heart, let Nature do the rest;
Implanting rosin beauties in her ears, beneath the Jays,
Enriching courtship’s duties, weeping tears beneath my praise.
Brushing my hips her deft hand grips my cleft caduceus,
Between my lips her firm tongue slips wild, fluttering kisses,
‘What do you want… I want to please you,’ pleads she with a stare,
‘I only want,’ I whisper teasing, ‘just to be… down there.’
Haunching myself above her as the Moon tips oer the land,
She’s begging me to fuck her, tugging with an eager hand
My hard as rock, blood-swollen cock, pulsating smooth & red,
Fed in her aching labyrinth where liquid-silvers thread.
The Moon sent Myrtho’s shadows to the waters & the rocks
Beside the earthy meadows fill’d with dandelion clocks,
Then entering she gave a <GASP>, when with a fearful heave
Flesh lock’d in flesh, with tight’ning clasp our slim limbs interweave.
‘Look at the trees! Look at the trees!’ Her voice was rich like honey,
Its cadence willing me to please her choice, bewitching cunny,
Then spinning round she leaps on top, a spider with her prey,
Sliding her spike inside us… or I her… O God that’s Great!
Of all the images I see this is her matchless angle,
When gorgeously up over me breasts to my body dangle,
Them drifting down enchanting to my nipple-tickling teeth,
While fingers taut & slanting pat her lattice underneath.
For this is bliss, yes you & I, eternity is now,
When misty & auspicious skies, mysterious, endow
This moment with salacious light, thy vision grass-stalks frame,
Swaying to our lovemaking as when thunder moves thro’ flame.
Just like the waves which lap erewhile wee sailboats cruise the bay,
I pulse within almandine isle…. now turning her we lay
Two taut milk-ladles in the grass… then rise we, howling hounds,
Slapping her plump, abounding ass as mighty thigh-push pounds.
As she her conjugals betray’d (& bore she no remorse),
Like flagellants her flesh was flay’d, goug’d by the jaggy gorse,
She gave retort to shake the dead, or raise a husband’s e’en –
His wife, he thought, was making bread, but naewhere could be seen.
With gangly gang of angry guys he flung his search-array
Towards our clanging passion-cries a mile or two away,
For I, that night, had grown cocksure, with such doth instinct blunt,
Blown mesmerised by her alluring, soul-consuming cunt.
Ignoring vatic, stern-squawk’d cries from birds flown branch & leaf,
I lock’d her fast ‘twyx naked thighs, her troth of wedlock’s thief,
But just before oblivion’s forever shouts should flee,
Five gruff, rough, tough-toned scruffy men about us could we see.
Dark faces torchlight-flickering they dragg’d our lust apart,
With wife & husband bickering they tied us to a cart,
& dragg’d me off to Dumfries town, where in a cell I lay,
Alone… some flagging, sad-faced clown… the gossip of Galloway!