Cool Rain

Lick the rust off the chain

True delirium is the sweet juice

of bare peaches

says he.

I lie here watching.

A Villanelle: The Place Where Your Neck Meets Your Shoulder

The place where your neck meets your shoulder

is where I want to hide my fingers

from all the dangers that doing can hold.

And if their kisses make you bolder,

you may permit my hand to linger at

the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

We'll bend out transgressions, crease upon fold,

and hide them where we hide our faces,

from all the dangers that doing can hold.

When you are dignified and I older,

my hands will still pause to trace

the place where your neck meets your shoulder;

and being wise and full of tales told,

your spotted hands will keep my fingers

from all the dangers that doing can hold.

But now, sleep gently enfolds

you and I, as my breath gently traces

the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

With splayed hands.

When I came in singing

You looked up at me.

Yawn

Ebullient in your revelry,

like a young Bacchus

who has temporarily misplaced

his wine jugs, donkeys,

and a few hundred pounds,

You stretch out

in the single mindedness

of a yawn.