Wake Up, Sleepers

Even though there was ice on the driveway yesterday morning. Even though there is still snow melting beneath the hedges. Even though the town's salt trucks and snow plows still stand at the ready for at least another three weeks. Even though the trees haven't budded and the crocuses have barely poked their heads through the dirt. Even though the robin in the backyard looks lost and lonely and the squirrels look thin and daring. Even though the only spring peeper I've heard quickly gave up finding a mate and went back to sleep. Even though all this says it's still winter... I say it's spring.

And in spring, a man's fancy (whatever that is) turns to thoughts of love. Or sex. Mostly sex, actually.

Sex with you, specifically. Failing that, sex with her or her or her. But yes, first and with all due fidelity, sex with you. Now. Please. Didn't you hear me say I'm calling it spring?

Slow, languorous sex while buds on the trees pop open over our heads like popcorn. Me inside you, smelling spring rain in the distance, feeling the new grass on my skin, feeling your skin on my skin, feeling the sweet slickness of you wrapped around me, our