Not of a tiger or other beast,
Not with an animal glower,
Not with jungle crafts or stalking guile,
Not yet with sadness, not yet with hatred,
Not yet with fear of tomorrow
Nor of me ….

Rather soft as candles –
Wax melting cool into the corners –
Green vital flame suggested at the core,
More of longings,
Languid
Wanting
Trusting
Reaching,
Tempting with gentle reproach….

Wide and honest.
Too wide perhaps. Too honest.
Revealing subtle suspicion where none ought dwell,
Revealing distrust where none is justified,
Revealing herself when
She fain would be unto herself a thing apart
and unknown.

Eyes moist with heat:
Caress the universe
And kiss it full upon the lips,
Drawing truth to desire,
‘Til all rests exposed beneath the gaze
That lights the night-time
And, calling forth the legions at dawning,
Bids us do battle beneath the lesser sun of day.