Acrobat dancer attached to a hot air balloon dancing through the sky at Festival Number 6 in Portmeirion WalesIt is true
the feel of grit
kissing skin
skinning shins
learning mistakes
through trial
those forbidden sins
made real behind school wall
where youthful fumble with
strange hooks and buttons to release
their wail against the world
they know not yet
the best comes when
all foible and tinsel is left
to keep night awake
whilst we slip into our coats
leaving tracks across the lake
and skating like dreamers too soluble to wake
turn and cut messages out of powdered ice
in our heady retreat from compromise
growing toward our years in eager release
no more push-up bras needed nor
pinching heels except of course when
drowsy with midnight madness we
reenact those anxious days
now unruffled by the sweaty fears of
first vintage
you are able to carry your own
I shall undress in turn
finding your desire wicked ever more
potent in the slowness of our motion
two figures cutting out figure eights
lit by yellow glaze of moon
wringing its hands in humor
for too soon we will be thawed
returning with pinked cheeks
holding hands close the door
on another year of love
made burgundy under covers
where firelight moves us near
to each others gentle warmth