Auburn Leaves

Brisk air chills his body,
As he walks slowly to the
Summit. His body peaks
With excitement, his
Lover stands still, staring
Down at him. The Vermont
Weather does little to hide
The heat eminating from
His body. He touches her
Rough skin, fingernails
Tracing her every line.
She hardly moves,
Except the rustle
Of auburn leaves.

He unzips his jeans,
Reaching in, hand
Grasping his penis,
Tracing his veins with
His fingers, he pulls it
Out and shows his lover.
She silently acknowledges,
He finds her opening, sliding
His fingers slowly in, trying
To warm her coarse, cold
Body. Warm juices seep
Out from her womb.
He breathes in the scent,
The sweetness even
Reaching his tongue.
She doesn't moan, only
The rustle of auburn leaves.

His fingers pull out,
Wet, sticky, threads of
Her juice between his
Knuckles, tracing the
Scars carved into
Her body.He slides
His penis slowly in
Pentrating her canal,
He thrusts repeatedly,
And slowly fills her
With his own juices.
She makes no protests
Says no sound. Only the
Rustle Of auburn leaves.

He walks away, the grey
Sky accentuating his
Disheveled appearance
Still she stands on
The frozen hilltop, used,
Yet uncaring. Semen,
Still pouring from her,
Dripping into the grass.
He inches into his Tacoma,
His dick stuck to his jeans.
Driving away he hears only
The rustle of auburn leaves.

Although this poem needs a bit of tweaking
I'm happy with the idea that it's about
Dendrophilia, crazy.