Through embracing healing elements about past lives with my dear friend Dave Cox & the uniquely channeling inspirations I feel from Firebrand Sage Sweetwater I offer: Season of the Doe
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Season of the Doe
It’s rutter season at day break;
White tail will be all hooves & prime.
She knows the doe’s scent is in the air;
Rising under the brisk hunter’s moon…
Wearing her vestures grassy shadow,
her mossy oak camouflage is fertile earth…
She heads out walking to the stony ravine.
She gathers there…her rucksack of black corn husk.
Ole mill is where they make whiskey silk moonshine,
it puts hair on your chest they say…
The gypsy grave digger gave her a porcelain flask,
back in the early seasons of the hare moon.
She said she stole it from the hackneyed man…
He came snagging where the crows gathered.
I knew her back when the hare moon rose.
I was walking in the moving pond of lilies.
This is where I followed the white tail to drink.
She wore a lavender chiffon chemise that day.
Didn’t look much like a grave digger to me…
She asked me if I seen the vapid outsider.
She said he was tall & mean as a rattle snake.
She came next to me in the moving waters.
She touched the ripples wave with wanting;
looking at me with the eyes of a forest fire…
She asked me if I wanted to visit with the raven.
There had been talk about its spiritual prowess…
She told me we should wade over to the water’s edge.
She said the raven nested up in the river birch trees.
I had been curious to know the raven’s magic…
We walked to the birch woods dripping water.
She smiled as we began talking about tapir hooves,
asking me if I knew about the doe seasons.
She leaned herself up onto an ole fence post.
It was lassoed with riddling rusty barbwire.
Bending over she reached to grab her skirt hem;
Made of beautiful purpurescent sendal fabric …
She raised her leg…revealing her downy thigh;
Her coy eyes grazed like wolves on pastures meal.
Between her legs she revealed a small leather spathe;
Spreading her thighs she asked me to come unfasten it for her.
I had to kneel next to the barbed wire;
The knot was so tight I needed to use my teeth.
I placed my hands grasping firmer upon her thigh.
Biting her leather straps…I heard the Raven call.
Sliding my hands upon her warmth I looked up.
She was arching her back looking towards the sun…
Her vigor scent now released like the doe in season;
Her hands began to slowly slide upon her body.
I removed the leather spathe and offered it to her.
As I stood to face her, she leaned into me whispering…
She asked me to tell her about the season of the doe…
Her caressive beauty now emanating within my own fire…
As her sensual musk ensnares my erotic covet to taste her,
she grabbed for my hand, and the leather spathe fell;
Inside was a beautiful porcelain flask with gold inlay…
…she wrapped her hungry thighs around my hips;
pointing to the magic in the sky with desirous beckon…
It was the raven she spoke of…circling overhead…
(Written: November 23rd, 2009 6:54 a/m)
In Joy, In Peace, In Grace, In Harmony of Love
Embraced ~ Embrassé
poétesse d'amour ~ poétesse romantique
Copyright© 2009 Poetess Victoria L. McColley
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