SLOWLY, SLOWLY
When we made love,
Every hour of the day,
Birds set upon that white cloud,
On the flagship of surrender.
When each sentence began with,
I feel hunger, and I feel thirst,
Measured by metaphor, wit, and pun,
And ending with sexual innuendo.
Then we stood naked,
In the bright light of day,
Doing some very heavy sledding,
Unable to look away.
—G. B. Congdon
4th December 2018
Some things need no explanation. But there is almost always one. Love begets greater love and welcomes all frailty. One must disturb the universe to find true love, which wears many guises. If the songbird sang, to hear himself sing, I love him still.
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