In the Sangre de Christo Mountains, 1970
by C.S.Scotkin

Aspen leaves
golden, shivering;
chilly October breezes
as we walked.

You had a surprise.
A picnic basket,
peanut butter sandwiches
hot raspberry tea
a battered thermos
scratchy gray Army blanket
and your eyes reflected
clouds…

A steaming pool
ferns waved greetings
as we shed clothes
slipped into a womb,
warm wet mosses
covered rocky thrones.

Purified, we sat,
forgot spoken language,
a doe walked by,
ignored us.
And snow started to fall…
As always, no thumbs down are from me. Mars feels much safer to me…