The way your hips rise to me in perfect meeting
I can tell She has been with you since
the very first time. The very first time
man thrust above you She was there,
gently she held you, her fingers
stroked your hair and She whispered
into the growing ocean in your ears, waking
old friends, delicious secrets.
Now you hurry me ever deeper I am a bow
drawn slowly to its taut extent;
my breath coughs little clouds about the soft shape
of your face as I release my silver stream
into your deepest place of greeting.
The curtain lifts aside for breeze
to balm our tingling skin;
out thighs which slowly disengage have known
the suck and draw of wave on shore,
and now the calming surface of our deep
mirrors the equidistant moon in which we sleep.
Full Moon, July 4, 1993