Ladies of the Wood, by Georgia Kelly

Two oaks lie in a collapsed embrace,

Shrouded by inconspicuously

By creeping claws of ivy;

Seared limbs line bruised bodies

 resting, peaceful,

on their bed of moss.

Amber confetti dampens

Ablaze. A blur.

Over mirrored

Hips.  Lips.

Take me to your woods

Where buds bloom at our touch,

Where dew melts like ice

On warm tongues;

Wher our song plays soft at first.

Not seven inches of

Dull notes, blaring

To bands of woozy teens,

Drunk on the hopes of

Holy matrimony.

Here the trees play

Only for us. A birds song

 interjected with every

pulsing breath.

Coiling,

Twisting,

Into a torrent;

Teasing. Until it

Slices open our

Goosebumped skin.

Revealing only our

Beating. Bleeding hearts.