sex

one fingertip lightly traces the smallest of spaces

cornered outer reaches where the lashes answer back

it would be the swelled center of the upper lips barely meeting

and swiftly bitten lightly

an exhale inhaled and re exchanged

the skull shape of an eyesocket fit into cheekbone exactly

two fingers laid flat barely upon the furrow of the pulse

jawline ssculpted between thumb and bent forefinger

from chin to ear

the mouth fitting the outer collarbones

their perfect center

covered with tasting kiss

a regret unconsidered

moving too quickly with insincerity

because predictably

next would come the rote memory moves

the cupping here

the pinching there

naught beyond a boring medly of practiced maneuvers

that while poteentially somewhat skillful and causing physical response

vapidly gape, filled with empty non vessels

of gone all too soon but for the disinterest only

pretend intimacy, an hour spent watching reruns

severely anti climactic as a climax

foolish, ugly and absurd

perhaps best dismissed

leaving hunger and the taste of sweat in it's windy wake

where dry eyes stalk meanings that are only superfluous

leaving crooked scars invisibly screaming on stiffly smiling mouths

without connection as yet

in spite and perhaps because of bodily fluids dripping

creating the belle dames sans etc

being well apart and sparking the earth and air in the middle distance

with the blue electric energy of possibility realized

that requires no more than a shared glance under closed eyes dreaming

A hand reaching back joined

headed into the dark forest at night

a moment's future memory causing

a light vortex of sensation in the back of the throat

and the pit of the ribcage with it's unspoken and unseen reality

is closer to truth in it's intangibility

than a decent fuck could ever hope to be remembered save tedious

beyond the clashing slap of flesh accentuating the apartness

rise up to the very moment of entry

lingering there barely moving until open becomes

oneness

on the faces of the truly beloved, the wind is a caress

and through the cottonwood's spangled show in the moonlight

is whispered endless endearments gestalt

hear it now, with the owl song accompaniment

branches snapping nearby cause an instant freeze and shush

the high suspended pause

more erotic than all the filmed hard core stretched flesh

the smell of earthrise through the blanket's weave

travelling under and over waves on star studded oceans

fathoms deep and breathless

a candlelit reflection in the half closed eye recalled

held up in a sacrifice of invocation

the edge of the ocean cools hot sanded steps with a certain foamy music

having travelled far

one can only see a star appear or the the slight opening of reflection begin

by watching closely

from a distance