Her double bed is like a river, on the banks
The plains stretch out, a long awakening of grass.
We float downwards, never getting wet,
Our heads beneath the duvet where ice can't form.

Nature won't accuse us; her cut blue skies are greying,
An old wind flicks the clouds, tempting snow to fall.
Your body is still youngish,
Knows the lust it feels and seeks my finger
Like the compass needle trembles when unsure.

If one canoe was not like another, hewn from the same bark,
We might have names others would remember
But, as for now, we're two babes in a basket
While predators prowl amongst the rushes.