Green Plums and Gossamer
Poetry
She bathes in shadow and moonlight,
Hair spun in silken gossamer
tickles the dip in her waist.
Mouth painted with the tartness of green plums,
kohled eyes flutter with practiced grace.
Sweet hands release every hoarse note,
plus two, minus one,
the crickets trill their song.
The moon skims on across the sky
darkening,
lightening,
clouds parting at dawn.
-EB
