In the hollow by the course
She, with me and Joff
late one Saturday evening,
The day had been a success
I had won again and the prize
Was in the bag, beside my togs.
The laurel wreath, around my neck,
Was twisted, not in greens
But soft pink of woman's arms
and the scents of skin in love.
On the field and track,
Another conquest lay before,
Better than the crowd.
The August moon in cooling beams
smiled his same old grin.....
we used his light
as he had used the sun
and, cheating watched
the other cheat,
between long dark lashes
and scared of love.
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