PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Even at noon, the sun is puny in its sky.  The

river is obstructed by ice; the soil and the

seeds within it, concealed by unvirginal snow.

Bundled in greatcoats, caps, scarves and boots,

we are almost unregonizable to our friends---and, for a

moment to the prejudice of haters who would sever

us from each and from our very lives.  But no matter: that

house across Pevchesky Bridge will welcome us---

hospitality arranged by our new friend, Yatsko, beloved of the

great poet who conceals his grandeur behind the

humble initials, K.R., and not the grand ducal titles.  In the

luxurious room that Yatsko has secured for us, we

toss off greatcoats, caps, and scarves; and kick off boots;

then shirts, trousers, and thongs fall to a slovenly

pile on the thick-carpeted floor.  Our socks, still

clinging to the contours of our feet, remained there---and

not only to provide warmth against any drifting chill;

though not colder than lurking inhibitions, on the

other side of Pevhesky Bridge, that seek to punish us.

Our desires---naked, thrumming, tumescent, ready to

release sweetness on to each other---are once again

recognizable, no longer concealed beneath winter

gear, or the hypocritical masks that this society

wants to impose upon us:  because our desires are

recognizable as another expression of playfully erotic Love.

J-Called

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