Making Love Last Night

 

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.