I want to fall into you,
but you'd rather ****** into me.
And that may be reconcilable for a second
or two
or three.
You turn late nights into later mornings--somewhere exploring skin as if there's no one else,
daring me to bring earthquakes to our footing on common ground that makes me
want to crash into you.
Yet you only plunge into me for an hour
or two
or three.
And I still push closed doors open in my hopeful head
while you can't conceive the thought of us-- or even me--
without the sheets from my bed