In one of many guises, her god comes.
His face of smudged fog (concealed from Juno),
Eye of the storm, watches as his nymph numbs...
Shes drunk too much. That shed managed to stow
That stout urn of wine in those woods betrays
Her intentions. Hes drunk his godly fill,
Become this thundered cloud with no rain, plays
With her... She likes his soft, smoky stroke, still
Her face beams no lightning love, no lust gasps
Embraced by Olympuss teddy bear.
One hand holds her beasts arm, the other grasps
An invisible glass she doesnt care
Whether those tame brute paws are Jupiters;
This satisfied mistress adores her furs.