Rust in the Vineyard

leaves turned
to rust distorted
puckered grape leaves
bronze damage but when
I touch it with my tongue
you fight the rust "get it off"
you whisper with intoxicating words
defining your lubricious state

my dominating rule
but soft-spoken leaving
you with a re-defining interlude

me the hierophant
explaining a hexameter

we go greek
where those puckers
are natural like diamonds
in the raw my tongue swirls
in six metrical feet traveled in
circles first of widdershins and
then of deosil in reversal of your
screams I put you over the edge
of the rim job sprayed on wettable
sulfur the grape plant in its wooly bud
stage

and you hypnotized
by my governance your
passivity I light another patchouli
and your muse re-awakens you I am
in charge and you are silenced and inspired

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist