Autumnal Sonata
Leaves, multi-colored, irregular, and voluminous, rained down from the heavens onto Scott and Steven. Their nude forms, dappled with sworls of light and color, lay hidden from view in the hedges of a public garden.
Yawning and stretching, Steven wrapped his arms around his spent lover, and with a chuckle kissed his Pilgrim tatoo. A naked inkblot of an Indian maid sat, crosslegged, on his own buttocks. The leaves-blanket lulled him to unconciosuness.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Baby," He whispered, tumbling into unconcious bliss, his snores penetrating the idylic Eden and waking Scott."
Scott's lips grazed his brow, "Happy Thanksgiving, my virtuoso.".