Of all the sounds
the human animal
has ever reproduced
your cries of ecstasy
would in any language
be understood.

Thank you for
the wish-you-were-here photo
that you emailed today,
so soft, beautiful, and peaceful,
your fairyland winter,
a reminder to entreat you
"please, please keep it there!"

The streets today
were widow canyons,
wooed away, the normal traffic,
by something kin to black magic,
and so to supermarkets at five P.M.
emptied by a sorcerer's spell,
but I hear tell, on game days like this,
the tide will turn
as if the moon, by chance, had changed direction.

I couldn't make up
          my mind today,
        so
    instead of asking for a perm,
           I ordered an imaginary tat
                      that wraps around
           my arm
      extolling
your
        character
                and
                    virtue.

Old men tell stories to recruit the young                                                            ­  
and they listen
'round
that dancing fire,
tales of heroes
that do god's bidding
with swords and holy shield words,
smiting infidels that would, if not stopped,
they're told, "violate our women",
but these very women know all too well
that the morrow will be a land of sorrow,
mounded high with soulless bodies too numerous to tally.

Relaxed,
content,
all the the knots
have lost themselves looking for loose ends,
I fear the muse
will feel her job is done,
and that would mean the end of me as well.

You gave the maid the night off.
You called to say the way was clear.
Your chamber was in adoration light
with tall taper candles, each one lit.
You told me clothing was not optional,
Each of us helped the other to our god given gifts.
You looked up at me and I down at you
What happened next is between me and you.