Lovers in the Glen

As I sat browsing pages of poetry,
Dickenson or perhaps Browning,
you slowly snuck up on me,
billowy pink chiffon dress rustling.
Soft hands covered my eyes
and I acted out my surprise.
Such is the beautiful game we play.

I dropped the oft read volume,
and took you gently in my arms,
careful not to wrinkle your costume.
You threatened to raise alarms,
if I did not free you in an instant.
Kisses on my neck you started to plant.
Such is the beautiful game we play.

We snuggled in the shade of an oak,
as it seems young lovers often do,
the shadows your crinoline cloak,
as my boldness exposed more of you.
Passions slowly built, taboos broken,
Poetry all but forgotten in our secret glen.
Such were my wistful thoughts as I sat.