, , , ,

The mark of the stork

Lay still heavy upon her

As red-legged she stepped

Into the dark to seek

The lip and breast

That hypnotised,

The sway of hip

That mesmerised.

And on night’s wing she soared

A memory now freed

To lay once more unchained

And suckle on the sweet

The berry blue

That tantalised,

The swollen fruit

That satisfied.