- Non-Erotic Poetry
- What is love anyway
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Is it the ice that slowly drips from the roof,
slowly, deliberately growing
the fangs of spring
on the eves?
From heat underneath
Is it the turbulent current wildly overrunning its banks
swollen from its daytime playtime
each cycle minutes longer
that the last
From heat underneath
Or is it the way you touch me the way you do
In my mind I think it's your gentle smile
maybe the cheer in your voice
or a latent memory from long ago of 4 times in a row
From the heat under neath
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