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Making love last night,
light as lace
soft as skin,
slow as the passing of the moon.
First comes being here,
exactly here.
All the rest follows,
intentionless as a dream.
Do I dream these touches
delicate as snow
bending the hairs on my back?
Lips and tongues brush
weightless as ghost sheets.
Attentions touch
so electric we both startle.
How long have I searched
for someone who would share
the delicacy of complete attention,
pinpoints of touch totally given,
totally received?
Face to face across the mirror
we dance slower than I have ever moved before
staying exactly together
from first touch
to night
to morning
to noon.
We wait for one touch to be done
before even imagining the next.
We bleed into each other.
We drink each other
drop by drop,
miss nothing along the way.
Everything I give in my touch you receive,
and your fingers answer with all of you.
A bubble of light
balances on our tongues
our fingertips
tracing filigree trails crisscross
over shoulders and hips.
There is no coming or going,
only being here
totally alive,
totally aware.
The road of the night shatters
into steppingstone instants.
Two pebbles, we jump
into the still blue water.
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