Posted in Nature, poetry, writing

Courtship

I caught you grooming earlier,
nose fixed to your fur,
engrossed in washing cheeks
and nether regions,
intent on looking clean,
and sharp, and able
for another
behind a rose bush,
shyly peering out.

When both of you had gone,
I spread a lovers’ feast
of leafy greens and ripened berries
through the clover,
knowing you’d return
when no one would be there to see
your dusk-tinged tryst,
or lament its fertile course.

Nature? Or enchantment?
But aren’t they the same?

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