December 1998 / Volume One / Issue Three
Cliff Craven

June, like November,
      trapped in a tricky season.

  Lights behind my eyes,
            strobe the ceiling,
      giving me flashes of you.
  Your body, beside me,
      furnace for this icebox.

     Pinhole of light novas!
  Bathed in afterglow,
           I am new.

   Rushing headlong into stillness,
     comforting destination.
I ride this vicariously,
    till it's no longer fun.

    Never forcing or feigning joy,
I'll perform amy greatest striptease for you.
    Revealing every layer of me,
    till, before you, I am bare.

    Upon completion of disrobing,
        every flaw, to you, now clear,
         don't mince words,
      please, do be honest.

      If the sight sits uneasily,
          in your gut or on your mind,
           don't hesitate,
               turn with haste,
           do not waste a moment more of time.

       If you find it inoffensive,
              stay awhile,
               clothe me,
           then we will begin.
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