Yellow pollen drifts converge,
adorn nude logs in gros point lace;
red veined, orange campfire strings glaze
blue-gray above my lover's face.
I succumb to reflected eyes,
greening hazel like wise old frogs,
feel black water breast swiftly swell
against a quickening white fog.
Swamped, rose-gold tinged moments,
rocking red boat danger portends;
I glimpse distorted, fear-gray image . . .
his eyes foolish and young...
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