moonlight unbuttons night-clothed desire

“Not another poem about sex!” my long-married wife exclaims, when I explain this new poem to her. Well yes, I’m afraid so.

Why have I written so many erotic poems in recent times? Am I obsessed? Well, yes and no. Society (unfairly) claims to have the last word on something sacred that God originally created. I merely attempt to restate its organic origins.


The beginning of life by Lilia Kuizs, Hungary


moonlight unbuttons night-clothed desire,

the mercury gauge climbs much higher;

my fingers forage,  your berries pert,

palm cupped male parts fully alert.


flood release, tidal-tempest ardour,

arms embrace, welcoming harbour:

my sailing prow pushes, docks slowly,

your supple space humid and holy.


your earthy ovum I shower with seed:

pulsing restless, ejected arrows speed;

feminine-reflective, receptive your dreams:

Edenic our cornucopia, spilling at seams.


mystical this moment, in eye lash blink,

chromosomes: choose blue, or pink;

gestation starts, coda to afterglow:

almost-invisible, an embryo slowly grows.


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