Shelter in the Hay

The door leaned  
only half a mite open  
so perhaps it was the Devil,  
or maybe the fool in me  
pulling you recklessly inside  

I recollect some vague,  
wayward warning  
beyond the throb of sap greening veins--  
but it scuttled feebly away,  
tail between legs  
and very quickly out of mind  
 
To fresh young bodies  
drenched in English summer  
the slide of the spoon loomed inevitably  
more fickle than syrup  
masquerading as wine  
 
After you smiled,  
shook the drops from your hair  
then wrinkled your nose  
when the straw tickled  
and wet fingers trembled to the shuck of clothes  
the fall came quickly  
singularity warping senses  
in a crazied head of steam  
 
It wasn't long  
before horizons swallowed thunder  
feeding eagerly on aah's and oh's  
the frenzied sweep of rain  
milking its medicine from an old tin roof  
 
It wasn't long  
before your nails raked glory  
indelibly into my heart without mercy  
head thrown back you screamed to Jehovah  
lightning's fuse for love  
igniting damnation in a moment  
 
And after that  
I never went to church  
or picked up a bible again--  
for who needs God  
when there are no more doubts  
about the nature or existence  
of the soul