Moon hangs, almost fullpieces of cloud scatter,glide in soft, summer breeze.We lay in our meadowlistening to the sound of nighther head nestled on my arm.Night air made for kissingdances upon our skinchilling wherever is damp.She stirs, quietly calls,my name hangs on summer evefloats about our meadow.She sighs, moves closersnuggling in, once againher breath stirs, awakens.Hands join in gentle caressexploration shared and renewedoh, so smooth and lovely.We turn, lips meetingslow, softly, delicatebuilding quickly to demand.Crying out, beginning and endcollapsing, breathing raggedmoon hangs, slightly fuller.by Daniel James Burt