Outdoor Sex You recommend outdoor sex in Winchester , where the lake-view bristles with reflected spruce, the beach sand gnashes, the low hills lurch north toward Keene . As you describe the experience, your eyes water with joy. I wish I could apply such imperial landscapes to my otherwise surly outlook, but my summer days lock like antlers and bring each other crashing down. Still, I value these conversations. I value your sideways glance, the rain on the office window, the mental imagery I stash unsorted to riffle through later, perhaps when in a nursing home. I especially like the crepe of your expression as you describe the beauties of your lover: his elongated stance, his leather carapace, his clumsy boots, his favorite black rayon shirt. I like to hear these stylings from you because the rain on the window casually frames the language you exert with such care, testing on me the phrases you’ll share with that larger life on the streets of Manhattan. Sex by the lake in Winchester? You wouldn’t waste that designer flesh on mosquitoes                         and sand fleas; but you’d test the innocence I’m willing to feign as long as rain beads your window with such tiny shining worlds.