The scent of the river
emerges in spring and
at night like moon flowers,
evening primrose and the
married-mans thoughts of me
do

Things and people afraid of
the day, afraid of the
light cast upon their flaws
tip-toe to me and whisper
their wildest
desires

Johns and Janets and Williams
all point fingers, tease and mock
but their hidden agendas are far worse
than those of the prisoners

I laugh with the crescent moon
Smile with the dew
and dream, day and night
of this tortured life,
of me,
and
of you