Committing Mischief

Before the storm arrived we

opened all the windows of the house

and chased each other through the rooms,

a trail of clothes behind us, except for a

skull-and-cross-boned, black-and-white

pirate sock, the only thing you wore

as we fell into the sheets and began to

paint each other.

I heard the sound of falling leaves

beneath your breasts and tides and rivers

flowing underneath your skin before

I wandered lost and dancing in the forest

of your hair as you gently kissed my

eyes and curled up in the green

and golden meadow you had

painted on my back.

We were too preoccupied with each

other’s sky-blue skin and

cumulo-nimbus shoulders to pay

attention to the curtains blooming in the

wind or to the almond trees that

burst up through the weeds around the

bed or even to the falling snow that

piled up on the bedspread and the pillows.

We scandalized the owls and the porcupines.

We even made the rabbits blush.

We fooled around.

We misbehaved.

We bathed in our own laughter as

the morning sun arrived to wrap

us in its warmth.

© 2010 J.M. Keating

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