She stood erect, full with
Devil-may-care defiance near the
Long edge of the old, weathered
Wooden dock – its legs licked raw by
The relentless brackish, black waters
Of Mosshead Creek.
Her delicate frame caressed by the
Amber-love contours of a slowly setting
He approached in timid splendor while
Each warped dock board counted by
Twos ‘neath his jaunty stride.
She glanced but twice at him, exquisite
Wings unfurled at each step. She stole
His heart behind perfectly bred and
Virginally curved eyelashes; which set
The sway to lust when on display.
She, a flower set against the dim magic
Of the Brunswick twilight. Her heart
Spread open in prelude to lower limbs.
Her tender pink – like oceans drawn to
Osiris’ bosom – yearned to effloresce
With wisps of color, for him,
Spring’s dilatory Bee King.