his idea of a good  time

his idea of a good time
was my idea of a good time
running down the path
from the house through the woods
laughing, stumbling,
holding hands, falling down
helping each other up

running until we flung our bodies
down on the sweet mossy grass
yellow flowers dappling it like stars
dragonflies darting around us
a brighter blue than the eye of the sky

his idea of a good time
was my idea of a good time
he held me tight
which felt right
even though I could hardly
catch my breath, and pretended
I was trying to get away

he kissed my face
nuzzled my neck
nibbled my ears
and we had a good time
over and over again

until the fog came rolling in
and the cows began lolling home

-- True Heitz
Walking Austin

Sometimes at night you wonít sleep no matter how tired
I am, and I keep tripping over the sounds
you make, stumbling awake, praying to God to shut you up
because my bones lately are concrete shoes laced
to every part of my body. But even God canít 
quiet you. So I get up and lift your hot weight,
a weight so familiar I am afraid Iíll forget 
to hold on to it, and I set off through the house
I keep dimly lit, a little light shining everywhere,
shining pink like light through skin. And after a while
I stop looking at you. I just keep moving, self-pity slung
like a shawl around me, just keep moving to keep you 
quiet, until all at once I hear the silence you emit,
absolute and deep, and I look down at you, and your gaze,
your whole smile wash over me, luminous as moonlight.

    -first appeared in CALYX

-- Francesca Bell