into the field of wildflowers & weeds,
and lay hidden from the inquisitive world,
under the baking sun,
perfumed by the short grass with wet roots,
intoxicated by the dark, damp loam
then
come away with me again –
it’s not too soon for me –
to the overgrown fallow field
where tall dry grass cushions our threshings
under the secretive, dark sky
with pinpricks of crystal lux
and glacial crescent moonbeams
illuminate your downy skin