Near midnight
two dripping
naked women
puddles at their feet
knock at my kitchen door
giggly and bold
flesh gold
under the bug-lite:
"Hey! Join the party
in our hot tub."
It did not seem remarkable at the time
once again to fall in love
with humankind.
They are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
This life we live is beautiful.
Why can't we always be naked?
from Son of a Poet
© Copyright 1986 and 1999 by Joe CottonwoodNext: My House Was Always Wet