In maypoled dreams, she waits with eyes alight
for nights of fiddler’s tunes and flowers picked.
Just like Pomona let herself from sleight
of hand be led, she’s longing to be tricked
and changed by solstice music and the hands
she knows will cling around her waist tonight.
Her loins are longing for a bulge of pants
to press against her and to meet the light
of metamorphosis, her change from girl
to woman, saved for this at last she’ll dance
till dusk and dawn are merging she will swirl,
and carried in Vertumnus arms in trance
of maypoled dreams, she’ll let her night be long
and seed seductions in the summer’s songs.
April 30, 2016