I blew the dust of his black velvet wings…

He touched me firstly in the sunlight…
I touched him secondly on that moonlit night.
Thirdly; he then touched that red velvet velour.
It was then I’d lost count and we sang, amour…
amour… Amour…!

Like coupled moths we went passionately mad.
It was then I blew the dust of his black velvet wings...
O’ then my heart and soul danced pattern-plaid.
In the weft of his dark pale limbs fittings
O’ it was then I became his sun burning pleasure.
The moonlight I shivered longing lost to become her.
And then we rolled all day and night long—together.