One Swell Droll Stoll

We strolled down the wooded path
In the nearest sunset edge, tripping
And catching each other with titters
Of shy touch till our hands clasped
Holding tightly the thoughts and each
Other in the now dark gloom of the
Damp and fern bordered way,

Against the hill your feet leave the
Ground and mossy growth pressed
By my weight and friction to rise up
To degrees you might have suspected
If mind reading was your talent
But not, for we now know our
Propensity for pathetic sexual cliché,