The light and shade
of shadowed curves,
hidden places where
fingers search restlessly
for fresh points of touch,
there to inscribe the present
mysteries of our passion.

‘This is how it is,’
an inner voice explains,
‘You become so richly
entwined about.’

And there, that dear smell,
the swell and rub of flesh,
of our bodies’ confusion.
Whatever passes
into mind’s space
is pushed to the edge.
Empty yet all.