if I asked, beckoned you close
whispered sweets and teas and
soft words, sentenced comfort
opened my arms and begged
you there, would you come?
take off your hoodie, your top
bras on the floor, maybe mine
maybe yours, maybe from both
or just me, I think, if it's you there
reading- the one I am thinking of
no clothes but underwear, because
that's a comfortable thing, to feel the
sheets against skin, flesh to flesh, and
yet to keep something covered, fine
hairs in check, no friction, so we can
slip close together, smooth, lithe, solid
only a portion of our heads on the
pillows: half on, half off, equally so
chins sunk into the mattress, blanket
overhead, a cave for just the outlines
of our faces, and the meeting of both
our breaths, warming bare chests
flushed nose, nipples, tummy, shoulders
plush under palm as touched, held, gentle
this is a new kind of sex, of making love
and it involves just your eyes and hands
above the waist, rolling over the hips, to
study. revise me. learn each crinkle and
every dip. all my curves, a puzzle from
each pimple, the roundabout of my ears
my see-saw lips, umbrella eyes that don't
and wont keep out the rain that will flow
over my hilled cheeks, and maybe yours
if you find where I am wanting you to be
close, warm, plush, alone and lying with me