what’s with all this buzzing chatter
you’re bump and thump and all a’clatter
worrying with the frontporch light
steaming on this august night
such racket over a minor matter
Passion —
let it flare fire red
red as the doors
of back alley Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a star-burst night
in the velvet grip
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth
white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire
there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar
so when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame
behind the Paris red doors