Hot summer forest, sweat and dawn’s faint light,

My feet in time with sighs of willow trees,

Bare cheeks and skin, dew-glossed and shining bright,

My breasts sway freely, nipples hard in breeze,

Moss meets my wetness—harmonies, soft lies

Nightbirds perform their final song with ease,

While fireflies blink out their last goodbyes,

Alone, I’m cradled close by nature’s sweet surprise,

An orgasm of dawn—my body soaring as I rise.

 

In dappled gold, a turtle halts my stride,

Her ancient fortress shell, a gaze unblinking,

Paused, I’m exposed—no secret folds to hide— 

Her slow, wise eyes undress me, softly blinking.

“Old mother,” I sigh, “what are you thinking?” 

Does my left breast seek the gentle morning sky? 

Do wild curls shame me, or my fantasizing? 

Do you see nipples, not a perfect doll’s eye? 

The forest hushes, breathless, waiting for her reply. 

 

I study flesh—each mile sculps ass and breast,

Do I run for her, or am I just insane?

The rush of blood, feeding animal unrest,

Her body in our bed—my lust, a hurricane.

She’s dawn’s first glow; I’m shadow, bound by chain.

Does this sweat feed her gaze, or pool between thighs?

I pass fat faces, screens glued, cold with disdain—

I’d rather die in wildness, in open skies,

My body, food for forest, feasted by butterflies.