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Two small dark islands, Peaks of silver hills afloat Upon a moonlit sea, Which, with each breath, Rise and fall, faster with The coming of the Evening storm, the Wind of my mouth, Reverberation of hands, Beating out a tempo, Rising, heating, waters Of her still lagoon, Until it boils, and Seething with pent up Expulsions bursts Forth from trembling land Heaving in her quake, Til, settled again at last... The goddess sleeps Resting in the arms of Her god of many names, Whom she invoked, With imprecations and Obscene demands within, The wonderful power Of the gale which overtook her. Donovan Baldwin

She stands almost revealed A gust of wind the difference Between modesty and nudity Waiting to hear my words To see the widening of My eyes, the sharp Intake of breath as, In the most natural way I substitute loving hands For that absent breeze And we both know where This rising storm will lead. • Donovan Baldwin

you began as lust now i need you every way you have become love • Donovan Baldwin