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By Christopher Submitted by chris Date: 2001 Sep 04 Comment on this Work [[2001.09.04.23.43.19686]] |
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In the muggy damp of the evening I trudge through the sawgrass along the bank of our Swamp and then I see you--- in repose, wreathed in mosquitos, contemplating our idyll of alligator and lilypad... "Come to me," you say, and motion with your hand. But I am not as at home in the mud as you, and I object--- "I love you, but..." You will have none of my feeble protestations, though. Before I know it you have lifted me right off my feet and to the bank you carry me. "You must be punished," you say and already I know what the punishment will be--- "Make passionate love to me." "Here? In the mud?" "Yes." Two hours later, the sun fully down now, we contemplate this place--- this place that has become Home. "The Swamp is a part of me now. I want to grow old and die here," you say. "Uh...you sure about that?" I scratch my mosquito bites. You will have none of my doubts: "We have all that we need here." (And I think but do not say "Dear God I need some bug repellent.") |