A Poem by Anon ymous
It’s spring; first we’ll find a nice quiet spot in the woods
[no, let’s back up a few steps] there should be candles.
Not the long tapered kind or tea light; not scented either
but clean, maybe blood red [you tell me how you like
the feel of wax against your skin]. There will be ribbon,
also red; I could wash your hair [we would create a ritual]
you would lay out my clothes, make coffee. We’ll search
for a clearing, midday [or better, late afternoon], a murmur
of rain; the physics of silence folds the sky in two.