CAUTION TO THE WIND

Though she barely spoke English
the heat between us was jalapeno
and habanero and we threw caution
to the wind and hid ourselves in the high
grass of a barely-visited corner of the city
park and we unwound and undressed and
there was power and propulsion as the
whole caboodle lifted off for outer space.
Tender work fingers touched and scrappy  
starlight lingered on the edges of surreal
reality and the wild bird-singers shouted
garden-fair tunes and bliss wandered past
our eyes and wet tongues and all stains
washed away and her conscience, and mine,
felt clean, and we spoke lovingly even as
the police swept in, called us creeps and
parasitic aliens and locked us behind bars
where the shrill winds blew for seven hours
and a spell of sleep. After we got out
we had one last laugh and said good-bye,
probably forever, or at least a day.