i have stood where boys have stood
an hour of their body in the ground
from their backs to their hands up
pricking gently a cool stroke of wind

and each parting softly sleep stole
into the easy crush of rain, and into
the always agape lips of wanting spring

there is not

                        )i have tread(where hours in you have died

flowers

                 and rushing fields of them




                 where cotton and thorn



                 )gushing


twitched a cat's eye
behind the town(



caught between hips)quickly sleeping in fur(and the tousle of its catching)

and silver moonlight grumbled stirring

(ran crimson in its thread

                                                  )


as leaping the city came to my cheeks coldly stinging with March(and remembering our body



                                                          i recall thinking:


                                                          is there more a perfect thing?

what are you?

are you as me?

areyouwhite?does your body sit easily

inchairs

knees skinny
not awkwardly parting
and fresh in grey light
spill young
out between your
thighs



                                   SPRING RAIN?

morning
you cruelly who
in lust Springfully come

your mouth wet
feels in dew lathered




uncurling

brutish





pinkat
the fringes
cool steaming
in the jeer of rounding light
pierced at the aperture of closing
darkness by a ***** of slothful mounting earth upon earth