April 17, 2009
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Rooftop nights.
I feel your body's heat
through clothing, air, and more clothing,
as we do not touch
skin to skin
just yet.

Tree tops are bare still.
Cold grey arms reaching
up & out.
Lights beneath them
illuminating, enhancing.

The railing is cold
under bare arms.
Mine, & I assume yours.

We measure our hands against
Your arms are now more real than the ones below.
I always fancied my hands large, 'til now.

You smile and say
"Being so high & in the wind, blowing your hair about,
you look like a nymph my dear."

I say,
"I like the freckle on your forearm"

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