I Blew The Dust Off His Black Velvet Wings…

Poem By Mark Heathcote

He touched me firstly in the sunlight
Then I, him secondly, on that moonlit night.
Thirdly; he then touched that red, velvet velour.
It was then I'd lost count, and we sang amour…
amour… Amour…

Like coupled moths, we went passionately mad.
It was then I blew the dust off his black velvet wings...
O' then my heart and soul danced pattern-plaid.
In the weft of his dark pale limbs fittings
O' it was then I became his sun burning pleasure.
The moonlight I shivered longing lost to become her.
And then we rolled all day and night long—together.

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