Interlude

 
My love is of the wild wood    
the wild wild wood and free  
gossamer and green her robe    
nothing hidden in the folds    
resting on her shoulders    
tumbling at her feet    
dancing on the mossy logs    
riding them like centaurs.    
Ivory thighs for those in favour.    
Hid behind a lotus tree    
divest coarse work clothes;    
boldly step from out its shade    
toward the  soft green moss.    
She does not stir but waits    
takes me on her thigh    
and makes us one.