Some fabric still on the loom,
still being made, pick by pick,
a plain weave with warp stripes.
Amaryllis expressing red
and a probably indecent proposition.
Dyed skeins drying in the sun.
Early stages of arousal.
Ejaculating, in slow motion.
From above, just beginning.
Cranking it up.
Boom!
Back to the red, from behind.
Under the snowy footsteps, springtide rumbles.
The amaryllis are beyond ready.
Really, they’ll start without you.