he baits
a vulpine’s trap
with flexed bronzed
arms in clothing torn
his romantic
poverty in thick rough hands
liberal on my thighs
his predilection a
whispered ancient cry–
make love to me
if i say no,
he thunders
with a searing pernicious
desire —
he is not my handsome farmer
but instead immortal
desperate for one small glimpse
of my delicious joy —
sweat sweet color till
dirt grit between my teeth.
Press Send Poetry 
author's note – i was thinking about Jupiter and how close you can see it tonight beneath the harvest moon, which made me think about mythology class, making me think about Jupiter's Greek counterpart Zeus, making me think…. you get the drift!
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