Feet have a lazy notion to the find floor
lost somewhere under the pile of our clothes,
discarded in our youth a moment ago
falling hungry in an afternoon of us.
The square smile of the window’s face finds
arms napping peacefully where they fell.
Legs entangled like a passion pretzel,
so whose toes are whose.… who can tell?
Under our sheet of perspiration formed
while we wrestled and renaissanced,
we find the cool at last to sleep
before we’re born again.
