Hitch your skirts

[horatioalone]

Hitch your skirts, girl,
& run headlong lifeward—
joy’s handmaids wait
at the water’s edge,
their warm wet sex
hyssop-drenched.
Let your teeth
burst the grape,
let its juice ooze
down your breasts,
let sunlight indent
your thighs as sharp heat
pools deep, deep.
Salt. Gush. Love. Blood.
Flowing hard.
Thick as honey.
Oh, I must taste.