Valentine

The times she spends with him, she feels as if
she's passing time in perfumed gardens, where
the twilight never dims and soft light lifts
her head up to his lap and his affair;

She sings to it - the serpent at her lips -
but the tune's rather liquid and as moist
as pleases any serpent, while it slips
and presses 'til her master has rejoiced;

If her tongue curls around the spongy head,
snow melts in his mind, stark shapes of trees
are blotted out, and petals strewn on beds
prove welcoming; they're scattered there to please
him, as he bends her down, has her incline
And snakes his way into his valentine...