[1] The frank erotic nature of trees surprises me every autumn. This infinite incandescent laying of their mouths over an earth growing cold. This is how I would like to kiss you, if only I could, as you roil in bed these mornings with cold feet.

[2] I have loved women for their eyes.

E, many years ago, for her lime-green like those Parisian avenues with plane trees, of which she spoke often. She was French.

Then there was N with her blue of distances, and who orbited closest to me only by lakes and bays. Strange for she was from the landlocked Great Plains.

There was also B, her African night depths and their sudden wild flaring. She had some conquistador in her. And we fought with the same ferocity, slashing glares.

I speak this from under water, as your gaze ripples over me, opalescent and light, murmuring over my body's earth.