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There's mischief in the air, and in the sky
Rises fair, sublime, and rare - Blue Moon.
Son of Venus, hidden, now lets fly
An arrow to a chaste fair maid who soon
Shall spy a youthful eager boy and sigh
As through the dance hall wafts a wistful tune.

For she, with goddess body silken-clad,
And rosebud cheeks and locks the color wheat,
Turns - the first she sees - a simple lad.
She's drawn to him - this boy that she must meet.
He sees her too; his countenance turns glad,
For she approaches with a smile so sweet!

Her face feels flushed; her blood now courses fire
beneath the spot where Cupid's dart was thrust.
With lingered gaze she speaks her soul's desire.
A feathered touch. To have him now she must.
Her honeyed voice and breath. He can't respire.
Her scent; the darkened room! He feels the lust.

He takes her by the waist of her soft dress.
They slowly move along the corner floor.
His fingers wrap around her back and press.
She leans into his body, wanting more.
Her fingers tread his neck; then they caress.
And next he leads her to the exit door.

She follows, not protesting, to his place,
Where, on the floor, their clothing soon is flung.
They fall onto his bed in an embrace.
With pleasured  aching, soon they're lost among
the tangled sheets as bodies interlace.
He touches where her silken gown once clung. . .

Winged scamp with cherub's face and ready bow,
You laugh at each new fool that you waylay.
For love of reckless passion born, you know,
can't last. She wakes, and you've since traipsed away.
She gasps and shakes. The lad is dealt a blow,
His face once loved - now loathed by light of day.

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