New Moon Not Old. Poem by Terry Collett

It is a new moon, not the old,
you watch it in the night sky,
see its attendants dance or wink
in attendance. You enter into
her embrace, kiss between her
thighs and kiss and kiss up to
her eyes. You lie there in her
arms, her soft fruits your pillows,
her fig your companion of joy.

Is this reality or a dream? she
says, combing her thin fingers
through your hair. It's a dream
of reality or a reality of a dream,
you tell her, your words fingering
into her soft ears by lip whispers.

She runs a finger down your spine,
slow, temptingly slow, her other
fingers encircle your narrow waist,
fingers smoothly encouraging
your proud piece. The old moon
has fled, the new moon blinds
eyes that stare, you indulge of her,
your lady, suckle what now needs
suckling, kiss each aspect of her skin,
as she waits mouth open, enter within.