I still don't know if
I've ever "made love"
but if I have
the first time
was definitely with you:

******* on the ***** carpet floor
of your best friend's house
in Tallahassee. we knocked
tattoos against the coffee table
both our knees red
rugburnt from scooting the length
of the living room + hallway.

we moaned into each other's mouths
as our friends passed out drunk
not seven feet away
we tried three positions & your
body told me the last one was your
favorite so we bumped bellies
pulled each other's hair
your chest on my chest
your shoulder blades
drenched in moonlight
small in my careful hands
stars camped in our eyes
you bit my
lip too hard.

I'll never forget the wet way you kissed
my salty forehead as we
climbed connected onto
the couch, but the most vivid
memories from that night
are your legs
still quivering but clenched
ankle locked together at the
***** of my back, & falling asleep
inside you because it
felt like the right thing to do.

I grow up
but you don't
Etched in a memory
Laughing
Bereft of ego
and adult responsibilities

I grow old
but you don't
Stuck in the amber
of a yesteryear
Forever fourteen
White teeth and sweaty palms

I grow hard
but you don't
Frozen by a lens
Smiling
Nothing but sunshine
Behind bright, brown eyes

A whippoorwill &
some mourning doves,
the gutteral croak
of the wood stork,
chasing squirrels,
a dying cricket or two.

Who knew
the splendid call
of a hawk circling above
could be such a sweet sound,
part of the greatest symphony
ever composed
& played for us
by the master,
conducting
beautiful harmonies
from the pulpit
above.

Last night up on the ridge
a whippoorwill sang
its incessant sweet song
in the thick, firefly darkness.
Dante was right to make Hell
a place without birds.
They fill the world with music
and ask nothing in return.
The purity of sweetness
without the demand for profit.
What a lovely notion.
- mce

infused with moonlight, casting sharp shadow_ i hear first whippoorwill