“I believe,” she whispered –
Turning, smiling, naked as love
And saints-be-tempted desirable –
“That we are all free to believe
What we want to believe,”
The words of an earlier wiser fool.
Her voice is filled with
November-smoke warmth,
Saved-summer-honey sweetness.
“But we both know, don’t we,
That when the delight-filled education-explorations
Of seduction-seduction seductions
Have passed;
When consummation’s firework-glorious games
Are familiar as history,
That the road between winters
Will still be there – beyond the curtains and doors
We thought were finally closed –
Waiting patiently for us … so,
Just sayin’, let’s not forget
Where we left our boots eh?”
