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A year has passed but not July’s shiver, the bed is warm and in the air a chill yet it’s not the cold that makes me quiver but the eros of our winter idyll. All is bright, and I between God and you, the kookaburra is in the willow, and honeyeaters in the honeydew flitter as I lay your breast and pillow. She is up and rising at the cockcrow, her slumber over, her allure begun - she comes to me parting her wet furrow and I am inside the gates of heaven! All else forsaking at dawn’s early light I lay smitten from our midwinter night. Kid, you mean and are everything to me and I do love the stars in Cotton Tree. You are my morning and evening star, sweet temptress to the unexplored heart - girl, all I need is to be where you are and never know what woe it is to part. That matrix of life and morning glories - that corona from sunup to sundown and brightest of all celestial bodies, my lips desiring its luminous crown. All else forsaking at dawn’s early light I lay smitten from our midwinter night. Kid, you mean and are everything to me and I do love the stars in Cotton Tree. So we are in our beguiling sublimed by a divine ordinance or blessing, but visceral love, like a woman’s mind, keep mortal men eternal guessing. Written: July 1998

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