Fires

 

My boots were muddy
from our walk in the woods
and my hands were cold
on that February afternoon
bright with cumulus clouds
demanding their share of the sky
and below their gaze
we stood face to face
with bashful smiles
and you took my hands
in yours and refused to let me
burrow under your layers
to get to your warm belly
which was beginning to laugh
at how good it was
to be alive in that moment
and then you kissed me
and drove me to your house
where you made a real fire
and together we made one too
and the weight of nothing but you
was upon me and I have never
been so naked or felt so clean.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-13-17

Painting by A.J. Casson, “Algoma” 1929

 

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