GATHERING WOOD

  
Hard pressed I am to gather Samhain’s wood
That fires burn with queen and consort's dance
For so the forest evening stirs my blood
That I would come to know your hungered glance

For you I’ve known in every phase of moon
The want and miss found in your writhing spell
The taste of amber flush, your yon' lips' boon
The drip of honeyed clutch, your flowered dell

For all my storied life I’ve quested you
With hope in every step your holy site
With every rise and wash of morning’s dew
Expresses you my love in day and night

  My hope remains that wood gathered alone
  Might bring a tended sweet fire of your own

Author's Note: a poem about  self-pleasuring thinking about a person who I hope is thinking about me while doing the same.