A thrusting tryst in the fell of night
Late past the witching hour,
Close to the dawn and the creeping light
lost in the lost small hours
where neither night or day holds sway or power.

Wanting, wishing and waiting willingly
a space made ready both with out and with in.
Time ticks, tension becomes thrilling
subtlety suggesting the sensuous sinning
which will leave them both grinning
lying spent and content.

Funny what you find scribbled in long forgotten notebooks shoved safe away,
it had gone from my mind that I wrote this over two years ago.
Still despite all that has past from then to now it is a happy find.