DANCING RAINDROPS

REMEMBERING

As I lie alone on the
soft bearskin rug
watching the dancing
orange, white and
gray flames dance
and ascend up the chimney;
the raindrops dancing
on the tin roof, my mind
fills with the memories
of the times we both
were lying naked in
this same spot; the times
when our bodies freely
explored every pleasure
known as well as creating
some new and daring ones.
As I drift deeper into my
memory vault my hand
gently greets your friend...
he is alive and standing tall.
Meet me at the Kissing
Place and we'll listen to
the dancing raindrops.
OKAY?