It’s in the silkened mist of summers’ service through the year
Where the floodlights from the heavens ride the tassels of their peers
Through the cleanliness of windowed clouds and onto higher plains
Skirting waves of mammothed measure
Diving to the womb of pleasure
But the soon rejected moral never stays

And the field of lusting playmates arching high within their art
Softly stepping for admission with their shy but flowing arc
Lost from unimagined vision but the dream can never spark
Coats of sueded studded leather
Soon enfold the seeking weather
But for those of them still yet to strike their mark

Long before the surge of passion with a sherry wine of fruit
Sees the ways of meaning rapids but too late to follow suit
For the line is lost horizon never falters, only mute
When a nymph becomes an angel
Fit for flirting with the devil
To all the ways forgotten with the time