Poetry can take you over I say
One of life’s saving graces she replies  

This immodest month wanes with the sun
coming back from his farthest fling
behind the neighbor’s barn doing god
knows what with the moon.  It’s when
my writing tree, surrounded by black-eyed
susans, hears the strange twitch of pen
on paper and when June, in the deep heat
of lustful rut, raises her dress and drops
her drawers.                          
                           Words thick as new honey
gum the page with my futile effort to
gluttony life from a month’s tangled briars 
where rabbits do what every playboy only
imagines. What a patch of vowels it takes
to make her happy…oh & ah & um & o­o