An erratic weather could not deter:
Budding, fleeting pleasure of a skewer,
No, no, not with last night's Burgundy wine,
But maybe the blood spurt of the first time.
Aside he casts doubts about her hide,
Finally engaging the evening tide:
Unwrapping himself from Chieng Dao's thick sheet,
Descending to discover gutts and grit.
Behold a child's eyes in an old virgin:
A surrender that warms up his tough skin,
A heart apounding thawing his sinews,
A woman who never forgets her dues.
Then he finds his way into her cavern.
With certainty, the bodies arch and burn.
Losing herself fills her empty chalice,
And he a boy, re-learning his first kiss.
Bangkok, 20 December 2015
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