Beneath an Arbor Limb We Dance

Slowly, and beside the fire ring we embrace,
Warmly, and soft droplets fall from above,
Gently, as the frozen branches thaw from our rising heat.

The silence of winter, broken, by a sagging bough,
Abruptly releasing its burdens into the snow-mass there,
All while quiet creatures disturb us not in their passing,
Laughing, and their crooked eyes avert all shiny.

Poem, memorialize my fictive grace, place me always
in the forest, there, making love a game of play
and not a hoarsely bundled rage; and not desperation
Out of my imagination, formed as an illusion of my lust.

Carry my heart to some far-away place and let
there, her hold it, who, one day, may.

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