... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... freckles ..., ... ghosts ..., ... girl ..., ... humor ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... night ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... religion ..., ... sex ..., ... sins ..., ... stars ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

My Ripe Concubine (Let Us Not Fret)

simmer down now,
my ripe concubine.
let us not fret
this dayspring sunshine.

your bare skin casts
shadows on my soul.
throughout midnight’s
recalcitrant toll.

birds a-singin’ –
Wormwood’s had his fill,
lay with me quick
ensconced from his chill.

beneath your breasts
i’ll bury my eyes.
drink the perfume
to quiet his lies.

your honey; sweet
and succulent drips
from your flower’s
head, to my whet lips.

forbid not Morn’
from casting her spell.
this Love has roused
his carriage to Hell.

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