bachelor tree house

welcome to my summer home
embraced by ancient oak arms
with knotty floors that creak
from our walking, the wind and you laying
face down

any oil that drips off you flows to the planking
next though the cracks to bed of forest
far below

I stain you deeply with hand pressing
palm to lower back, thumb tracing your blade edges
sitting upon your lovely seat hearing the private
chant of non-surface wind

we spy down on fawn and doe backs
see the tops of leaves and bare wood
unobstructed, and your patina

carpenters need projects for their callused hands
pushing your muscles and glossy skin
reshaping you for the climb down
I go first for looking up