Tete-a-Tete Iii

There are few languid summer afternoons here
Cooling near your pure male essence
Legs entwining legs, fingers touching fingers
Ceiling fan circling-circling above us
The river moving-moving by the slope
We could be in Venice or Paris
Within earshot of Henry Miller and Anais Nin
Smoking and laughing in conspiracy
Their souls rising from the lower courtyard
Excising our sun-filled stupor
That ought never

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