My childhood was spent reading books
in shade trees
and lips stained
by the blood of cool sweet blackberries
found in deep shade
and acquired by masochistic tendencies
which said the scrapes left by thorns
were nothing to the pleasure of cool berry burst
in southern sun

this summer will be spent reading books
in his cool arms
lips stained
by the sweat off his winter white skin
becoming bright red
from a known masochistic tendency
which says artists like to be bruised by kisses
this is nothing to the pleasure of being intertwined
on hot summer nights.