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
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 bathed in our own laughter as
the morning sun arrived to wrap
us in its warmth.
© 2010 J.M. Keating