August Lilies

Here lilies lick the growing moon.
The moon, he kisses back.
They're opening,
unwavering.
Communing with the shining king.

The scent of them,
unpuckering.
Their petals sweet,
unfolding.

Tilted back
to feel his lips
brushed upon their gentle tips,
the perfumed drafts of supple forms
dancing in the balmy dark
beckon to his majesty,
call him from his slumbering.

And he is calling back to them,
the stars around rejoicing.
This ecstasy between them
shines to the one in awe,
fills the gentle August air 
with trembling passionate spice
that only lasts for a few warm nights
before they lie dormant again.