the morning was foggy on the lunar standstill
tho’ the yard be active with creatures wild
wearing feathers or hooves, and along the fence
scurried a stealth raccoon 
 
you tend to the fire adding fuel and ideal
stirring the embers of conscious thought
projection of probable, potential of principle
significant aspects of complex tasks
 
and I’m not sure I heard all you had to say
as I lost my senses while your hips swayed
and you emphasized your point
with those perfect lips
 
I notice my fingers now entwining
a lock of my hair, a certain flush
of the moment when eyes penetrate
the surface and stare
 
embedded into a depth of exhilarating
invigorating my relinquish of depletion
thrusting a powerful grinding sensation
as you explain what is sacred