Because she fed me on her flock’s goat milk.
Because I watched her squeeze each mud splattered
teat dry. Because the winds lifted her silk
from her shoulders. Because I leaned forward
and cupped her breasts in child-like hands. Because
I felt the dazzlement of her nipples,
sudden gemstones. Because she did not pause
at her work, just smiled. Because my muscles
tightened, stiffened, hardened. Because I did
not love her. Because I did. Because my
hands, all vulture, caught a flame, my skin peeled
back when she daubed milk on my lips, then slid
fingers over my mouth, tummy, cock, thigh,
and so I burst in her mouth as she kneeled.