_Walking._ ME: So what do you want to do now? HIM: Oh, I was thinking about sucking your cock. ME: Very well. _They pull over under a meandering sycamore tree, and kiss, caress, and suck. It feels good. Rhapsodic. Elementary. Pacific. Endangered. Fibrillating. Delicate. Spun. Mothlike. Effervescent. Splaylegged. Inibriated. Tapioca. Banjo music in the night. night. night falls on the silver sliver of the creek. mercury falls on the barns and farm houses away over the ridge to the east. a silence falls over this part of the woods. it is not silence. listen. it speaks:_ HIM: Um, I was thinking— ME: Yes _[love a faint flicker that could be only fairies in your eyes]_ ? HIM: Could we be girls for a while? ME: You mean, bend over and stick your rump up in the air and pretend some more? Why, su— HIM: No. Sh. I mean, really. ME: Really? HIM: Yes. Really. ME: Well . . . . HIM: _[leaning in, as though it were the most important moment]_ It could be . . . . ME: _[smelling, knowing fully the more depths beyond the word]_ . . . fun. _Suddenly, they are girls._ HIM: What do you want your name to be? ME: Rain Song. HIM: That sounds like ninety-nine cent shampoo. RAIN SONG: Well fine, Mister—I mean, Miss Smarty Ass, what’s your name gonna be? HIM: Gentle Vigor. RAIN SONG: That sounds like a classified ad for a naughty massage parlor. GENTLE VIGOR: How right you are, how right you are.