Meeting the summer king in the glade. Here it is crux of autumn; 

leaves red and gold fall down into the fire circle. 

Feeling him enter me. I, the novice, have come forth 

to be made woman. His fingers are on my lips, 

hushing me with sweet furtive dew 

that might be his ecstasy, and might be mine; 

so I drink it in, drink the wine held 

to my open mouth, taste the arrival 

of his pleasure as I feel the leaves, 

their soft rustle falling on my nearly naked skin. 

Sips of sunlight. In this circle of sunlight 

a shaft of light touches me at the crescent. 

I am a vampire, I protest. I am a creature 

of blood and shadow, I hide in graveyards 

for fear my darkliness will be hunted and staked – 

But he holds me in the sun, until I consent 

and allow the sun to enter my gasping flesh. 

It feels exquisite.