It feels like your hand at the small of my back
Warm and smooth
Feels like hurry
Feels like warmth curling rolling up my the skin of my belly
Like the thousand little worrys are gone
And I'm with you.

Feels like I don't care even what you think
Mountains of want and nothing else

Feels like my fingertips on your eyelids
Closed and wet
Your eyebrows, sable and warm
Slick oily skin, under your cheek bones
Your mouth, your lips my fingertips inside
Reach
Toes hard, pechos curled
Spoonerisms

Memories of time spent with you
in our imaginations mix with life.

You wanted to teach me
what the word prosaic means.

No dictionary in the world comes close.

Your hands on my neck.
Your flush of anger, as I tense
and relax at your touch.
Slower you go,
feeling my desire for you
spike as fear flees
and I suffuse with Trust.

You're amused and distracted by it
I am challenged to keep your attention
where it belongs.
My hands on your shoulders
Rushing to forget who did what.
The world around us roaring whirlygig
at our own callous amusement.