La Mar
The wind strokes her, from curl till crest,
Blows over her moist, soppy head,
Drives her as wild, till she dances best,
Dandles her up, until she takes his breath
The sun reflecting on her naked glance,
Creeps out of her, the cold sweaty innocence,
Nourishes and spoils her hidden plant,
Till to the ecstasy, through the natures diligence
First gravitated by the moon, and now kept by the confound
He almost dives in – but he is soaking already; in the pretty and enclosed depth
She, sprinkling of grace, and about him, she is with doubt,
Yet, at the end, they get covered all over again; from the internal loving silhouette