The Winter Lake
Did I not say the lake would sing to you?
Not say it’d warmly hum? The music’s there —
you have to listen soft, my sweet, lakesoft.
Press against me, tenderly I’ll caress your hair;
press snug against me, let the warmness sleep with you.
This lake is made of warmth, tonight;
yes, coldness too — the exiled cold of chilled starlight,
bitter like the glare of harsh and narrow eyes.
But what is heat, my love, without the cold?
Ah, you shiver for the heat, which I supply.
It draws us into tight and hugly love. I feel
the tender, beating life, your heaving breast and heart,
inhale your sleepy warmth that makes the minutes yawn,
your restless cold that keeps us pressing, loving on!
Dream World
I’m water and mist in the heat of the day,
my dreams in the night are solid:
turn-tossed till my bed is grass on a hill,
I feel your fresh body by mine.
When sleeping my dreams are colors of love,
the touch of your hand as you warm me;
blue from the sky colors your eyes,
flesh colors your arms close around me.
My dreams are as real as the warmth of the sun,
the cold of a lake in the mountains;
but when I awake the air is a fog,
and the lake fades to a fountain.
Desire
I want to live where I
can be myself —
like to feel my heart
on the outside.
Want to run along
the hill with her —
like to feel her heart
on the outside.
theNakedAtheist 