The Infidelities of the St. Lawrence
By: Clayton Austin

 Its six in the morning and the waters
of the St. Lawrence have beckoned me to her bed.
Revealing herself to me under sleepy skies,
she invites me into her chambers
where my concubine’s virginity lies.
Tell me my spotless bride,
where shall your lover’s cast fall undefeated?
Over there under the Quaking Aspen tree?
Where the shade looms over the deep pools
of your untamed chastity?

I Step from the safety of the smooth stones
worn by the passing tides
and venture into deeper waters.
Her current wraps around me like legs as she
presses her frigid touch against my manhood,
running her cold hands down my trousers
and up my flannel shirt
only to reveal the depths of her skirt.
Careful lover,
not too much too fast
Lest I withdraw unable to last.

Keeping time in a two-four rhythm
Back and forth, then back again
Together we spin our hearts lightly,
a flick of my rod sending
carefully tied, feathery flies
skimming across the shimmering surface
of her breast, her thighs.
And no sooner than it all began
she gives up what I came for,
and with prize in hand I head for the shore.

Be well my sweet
For when the morrow comes
you will find me here
on your pebble strewn shore,
ready and willing
to make love once more.