PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That whole Saturday afternoon in September---

balmy, temperate, and summer still not quite

over---not yet giving way to cooler Autumn---

he spent most of that day clad in a formal

dress shirt, and cuffed dress slacks; and

dislike the confinement and discomfort that

shoes impose, he had taken them off---his

striped socks gliding across the back yard

repeatedly.  Later, in our bedroom (with a

multiplicity of stars in the window), and

entirely naked (that mane of long curls

profuse and thick, and nearly covering the

pillow), he propped his bare feet on my

shoulders while his intimate crevice gently

but firmly received and enclosed me.  As I

thrust eagerly, I turned my head to either

side to inhale and taste (without the least

inhibition imposed by old prudes' and

haters' opinions) the fragrance and flavor of

chlorophyl, the invisible grass stain on his

soles, and on and between his toes---the

nails of which had been enameled metallic blue.