Pale limbs wrapped around a
brown trunk,
the victim of an undeniable
attraction
that refutes evasion.
You innocent,
trapped in this web of romance,
so beneath and beyond your earthy knowledge --
all commitment, passion...
but no longevity.
There will be no escaping --
unless by some altruism or death --
but you are more
beautiful
striking
meaningful
together
than either of you might be
apart:
You -- solid, ancient-yet-filtering;
the arms holding you, a child of my own generation --
reckless, knowing much of little;
a sensuous pagan
so willing to worship the things
so willingly believed necessary for life.

Perhaps you, oh Rooted One,
will teach the words of the wind,
the warmth of the earth,
and the surrender to existence.