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Which God while going by us
Saw the innocence of your
sweet face and said
That man over there needs,
indeed deserves,
the firmness and the pleasure of
that young woman's legs. Then
having done so made it happen.
Surely heaven was not
built on less than this.
And when
gods gather for their feast days do
they point and say, Ah look
her thighs are trembling
the way some swelling rivers do,
when finding new soft stones
they can roll over and caress. The
way
we knew she would.
I rise above you,
look at you, admire the handiwork
of what went into you. Your neck
is slightly tilted so your eyes are
downcast.
When our lips part and we accept
long kisses punctuated by the need
for hands to do the work of artists
at their easels, does some angel
shadow guide me to and through
you; having schooled himself in
love so wonderful and lawless
that other angels whine and suffer
oblivious to those they have been
sent to guard against or guard?
Such goings on.
Some armies out of heaven must
be here, unseen but here, or why
would we be showing off our
rolling in and out of one another
in appreciation of the circumstance.
Your breasts are like some lovely
resting place - accepting kiss, caress
in turn. I slip into you slow as dreams
slip in and out of restless nights. As if
loves engine had a fever but was
calm and patient even in the face
of expiration, desolation.
My hands are brushing lightly now
along your forehead, thumbs
resting for a moment on your eyes,
then slowly moving over them. They
open and you smile. I cover your lips
with one hand. You begin to take each
finger in your mouth. The tips at first
now two at once.
It is such
a welcome place. Your cheeks
expanding, warm, and so electric
as to send a charge through both
my arms that lock behind your
thighs and pull you to me. Your
hair all tangled,
beautiful, spread out on the sheets
like
lightly woven lace.
You are nestled in so close, head
buried up against my thighs,
that you cannot see how my face
dives from mere delight to joy.
Splashes in the
moment.
I twist your head, bend over, down
as 'round and 'round the world
goes until it's spinning off its axes.
I run my tongue along
great mouthfuls of your hair.
You deities observing is this not
The alpha and omega and what
is in-between?
I'm over you and under you and
over you again.
If this is not the highest
Homeward Heaven then what
are heavens for, except perhaps
to dream about and frighten those
who think the pulpit / pew is
the only key that unlocks peace
and praise; august April mornings
and dreamed about May days.
I cannot wait. Surely I will die, burst,
be taken from this place forever. Your
nipples soft then growing, taste like
salt from holy seas. I am on and in
your mouth again.
I suck great kisses from your mouth
and plant them on your belly
and your breasts.
Now easy on your side, your head
at rest against my neck and shoulder,
you move my knee from off your
hip. Your hand comes down and
starts to guide me. Tender as the
day is, so is love. Easy as the night
is, so is, so is love.
I grow within this necessary place.
The fullness of us so complete
I nearly cry aloud. Suddenly the sky
falls down around us.
Gods go by and pay us no attention.
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