Ice Hot

craving missing winter snow, i
crawl, burning palms and
naked legs on frozen backyard ground.
pressing breasts against the earth, i
lick, seeking vagrant fallen flakes,
teasing them from sleeping mounds
the way i tease arousal from your cock.
you melt, you burn, as
laughing off mere logic's chains i
water you from passion's well
until you blaze with flames.

Written for the sadist, and published with his permission as follows: "You may post it. If you mention that I suggested a change, make sure you add that I rarely make such suggestions, out of concern for polluting the purity of your work." He did suggest a one-word change, which I immediately saw was perfect. It is true that he rarely proposes such edits. I wish he felt freer to do so more often. His mind is sharp, his ear sensitive, and his command of words as strong as is his command of me.

I won't tell you which word he suggested, for it fits the rest of the poem as well as if I had come up with it myself. A good editor knows how to speak in the writer's own voice. Daddy has done more than that. He has helped me find my voice and, indeed, myself.