The grass is wet
like may dreams of you:
a carpet of jade tongues
moist as yours.
There is a steam rising
from the ground. The sun is hot
between rain storms.
Rising signs, rising signs.
You have taken me
out of winter binding.
Our skin is blinding pale
in the sunlight; it is
hungry like your mouth.
Moist as grass,
your hair on my thighs,
lust in your eyes,
you drink bitter milk
of spring time.
published in Impish Impetus, no. 3, 1994.
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