Poem: February Fifteenth

It snowed in Rome
just the other day –
which it never does.
Thin veil of white
purifying gray stony
silent ancient history.

Tell me quickly please
does the old she-wolf
still prowl the streets?
Hunting for her twins?

I feel a beast inside me
as the sun rises earlier
whispering springtime lust.
Stirring my blood into want…

Your soft curves make me
want to strip away civility;
firmly take; compel you to mingle
your own savage dreams with mine.

Come then! Indulge your wants!
Let us run naked through streets;
Down to the grotto; into the cave.
Consecrate Lupercalia with seed.

I need you here and now more than life,
more than hope. More than dreams.

Shall we have a conversation?

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