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Water Lily Mischief in the Key of F
As children it was a big deal to pick a water lily because they were protected and we feared we'd shame ourselves by breaking a law, even though no one would ever know. Now we leave each one alone, gazing at them as if they were all the beautiful married women we've known, as we should despite our inscrutable lust to do otherwise, each beguiling flower a reminder of how lustrous these women looked on their wedding days an hour before walking the aisle as if conjured by libidinous gods in a church's anteroom mirror, where in bras and panties as breathtakingly white as water lilies, their skin as sun-warmed and silken as summer lake water, five sirens caress wavering tendrils of the goddess' hair. Drifting by thousands that are not waiting for my hand to reach down from a green canoe, I often think it wouldn't hurt to pick just one, but which one would I choose? I'm too humored by the stamen that's already erect as every married nipple I've ever imagined hardening in the outlet of my mouth. I'm too mindful that a water lily opens its moist, supple art at dawn, widest in noon light, then closes it tightly by dusk, quite the opposite of how we are when we sleep. But with all of them dreaming wide open now in bright August sunlight, I'm the only lover whose slow glide across the water, who with every slow dip and pull of the paddle can send out ripples that pleasure so many, so deeply under the sleep of no one's lids.
Dan Butterfass
**************** Dan Butterfass has lived in Minnesota all his life and in Rochester, MN for the past fourteen years. He has worked, among other ways, as an independent bookstore owner, an outdoor writer, and a fly-fishing and canoe guide. He currently owns and operates a history and eco-oriented tour company, and recently earned an MFA degree in poetry from Vermont College. He lives with his wife and their three children in Rochester.
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:hi:
RL
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