it’s october two thousand and eight

and it’s hotter than i like, too hot

damn near 90 for the past 4 days

which doesn’t work when looking

at leaves of crimson, gold and yellow

and wanting to drink a stout or a porter

but the temps say to drink a saison or

a hopped up ale with citrus nose and

clean palate for the imbibed pleasure


was out mtbing in brown county and

made love right then and there like

it was meant to be, that hour or so of

pleasure twisting and turning up and

down, flow felt as one being happening

in time and place that won’t be duplicated

independent writer

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