Soon’s a moon I bay at

for a time when all is in time

for the white candle

that lights you flame

with desire for the one

who isn’t even sure

if he knows one, two or three

the writing’s on the wall

and you are no fool, you

know it for the right

reasons, too.


It is not the wildest dreaming

that makes me want to shy away

but the right of all to be here

when you ask me for a call

of wildest lust and sombre

student-like timing for

the weirding is the worst

when I ask for it to

be certain that bit is cool

to want you before they

come down to eat me.


I will ask you to make believe

that you are wanted here, now

and then

but it is not the white-soaked yonder

that makes me want to share with

you, your right-sense of belonging to me.

It is the wry flavour of the work

to be done to set you out

as the wildest flamer of all,

to be here when I ask for it,

to be rendered unto the mouth of my

tummy and stall.



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