Thick billows issue copiously from lips.
A glass of liquor firmly in hands,
From the other’s bottle we gallantly sip.
Emerging shyly from an expected Eastern cloud:
The Rioting May moon is gradually kindling the fragrant highlands;
B y the hour our conversation is growing both vulgar and loud.
Where the murmuring river turn, towering ridges in rows loftily there rise proud,
Where light mist fan, against jagged rocks and there between: ferns or moss bud.
Behind are columns of indigenous trees;
Shadowing either jagged lips of the dark, deep gorges:
Dense bamboo and wild nettles tangled in threes.
Before, eyes contemplate the double picturesque ranges.
To the left, strange dogs mate and giggle care freely under a painted bridge;
Plagued by sudden lust, under a common blanket we kiss or lay bare.
Joining, stroking, aroused crotches are stirring wildly, skins shuffling with care.
Bending, tossing, thrusting and indulging so primed with pleasure is the young pair.
Now spent out, we are panting, gazes cast to the starry sky.
My Cheek’s placed nude where your navel circle, bend.
Your thighs and nipples are both smooth and round;
Lets In knots, first our hairs together tie before a fire we high on pot.
Drunkenly doffed, in midstream’s prominent rocks, we cuddle, caresses share.
Thrilled, refreshed by mid night chilled waters: ‘bones feel light’ you sigh;
Why did we not swear when were in civil terms, on a light oath vow, you and I?
Our past association has now turned to a source of resentful and bitter warfare.
Though I loathe this way to broadcast my pent-up disappointments
All my life, and with a hang head, I’ll regret our final parting embarrassment.