Feverfew and Foxgloves

July was everywhere across the town,  
With shutters closed to keep out northern rain;  
And I had fallen backwards; I'd remain  
Lying among the foxgloves, with the sound  
Of raindrops on my belly; my thoughts ground  
The dampness underneath me: that was plain  
For you to see, because, with cries, I came,  
Amidst wet campanulas; but I found  
I was dreaming of other wetness, which  
Could be tasted quite freely, when you licked  
My pussy, as I lay back and you roved,  
With teeth nipping my clit; you were my bitch  
In gardens filled with lemon-balm; you slicked  
My cunt, near feverfew and those foxgloves.