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HITCHHIKING NAKED

You must believe that I wouldn't tell a lie Because the tale I'm telling here sounds insane But it really happened in the Seventies... days gone by Back in the days when flashing and streaking raised cane. A friend and I hid stuck out our thumbs on the main college drag We were trying to get to a party we'd heard about. We were both stark naked and it wasn't some gag It was just the way things were going on that route. And sure enough, a car stopped and let us in. There were four naked jaybirds to join us The driver had on a hat but the rest of him was all skin. No one uttered a comment about our nudity or made a fuss. We were in good, decent company in our indecent exposure They were going to the same party we were trying to crash. There was no need for name exchanging or other disclosure. We were all just flashers out to make a most public splash. We piled out of the car when we got to the party. And went inside the house exploding with loud rock. There we were met by forty naked people so hearty, They all seemed to be a wholesome, hale unique flock. We all danced our naked booties down. No one seemed to notice the lack of clothing after a while. Some would-be prom queen came in wearing a gown But quickly disrobed when she saw she was out of style. It was a naked hoedown, a nudists' bash. A few clever men wore top hats and ties. Some prudent girls wore sneakers in case they had to dash. But the strangest thing was where people kept their eyes. Everyone looked at the faces of everyone's spaces. No one was caught in open-mouthed stares. It was like we were all children living under the graces Good children dancing who all had said their prayers. It was a naked rock and roll party for dancing And everyone got into the spirit of the thing. Of course there was some subtle glancing But no more than any dance floor party would bring. We went home the same way we came. Hitchhiking naked down the college streets. Getting picked up by naked drivers seemed tame The only complaint was the hot leather seats. The next day we had to put clothes back on And give up our childlike state of purity. Our wilder, younger selves were gone. Hiding behind our newfound clothed maturity.

HEALING THE INNER CHILD WITH HIS GENTLE TOUCH

Healing the Child Within With His Gentle Touch I would trade all the kisses swept with passion Of deep-breathing lip-locks, I'd give up my ration And you can have the deep-diving tongue dances too. I'd give it all up for one last gentle touch I once knew It wasn't a tight embrace that touched my soul. It wasn't a soul kiss that made me feel whole. My true love had a touch like the breath of a child. It was so sure, so gentle, so kind and so mild. He would take my small face in his large and sturdy palm Smooth my hair, let loose a strand, and let me feel that balm. Rub his hand across my cheek with fingers softly floating Tender as a mother moving a curl on a child upon whom she is doting. I would feel soft and small and fragile. His loving hands were so agile. He never failed to let me be his own loving child for a while. I let all the love in without seduction and without guile. Then we kissed and became man and woman, lovers again With a secret knowledge of what we had just shared then. I knew the gentleness beneath the steel. He knew the way to make the child in me heal.