A poem by M S Clements
We are granite statues invisible in the still night air. Behind us, the mountain’s naked breast arches out of its cloak of pine green, kissed by the tangerine sky. The warmed forest oils trickle down to where we wait, massaging our bodies to revive us from the nightly enchantment at dawn’s insistence.
The breeze wraps up her innocent scent of salt, apples and roses. A fine gift deposited at my feet. My glassy orb counts her barefoot skips. Dusty clouds gathering around her virginal hem. Her breathless song carried aloft to my erect ears. I rise and breathe for her.
She is by my side, her intense heat interrupting the gentleness of daybreak. Her long naked neck by my mouth. I smell her. I taste her. Deceptive fragility, her blushing cheek rubs against the muscles pulsating in my neck. Fingers entwined within my flowing hair. I feel her grip, her sharp tug, and a white feather rests astride my back. Bare legs grip me, tight, demanding my attention. I gallop for her.