Naked Mondays
As filled with pleasure-measured wonder as our weekends are,
That's how sundering are our early Monday mornings,
As they awaken from late-night Sunday's deep-dreaming slumber.
Even now, rousing our sleepy energies, from warm bedsheets,
Then refocusing them on the hours immediately ahead,
We realize just how in the moment our ties to our love are.
Not yet dressed or ready to leave the evanescent now behind
Yet prepared to accept the necessity
Of exiting these precious seconds of our existence together,
Go our workaday day-to-day-separated ways, once again,
We stand face to face, chests pressed flesh to flesh,
Our embracing nakedness effacing the prospects of aloneness,
Shaping tender affections to each other's beseeching ears,
As though our tiny whispers might keep the silence stifled
Long enough for our clasped bodies' passions to speak for us:
"I've never known such closeness with any woman,
Ever imagined making love could transform my cells, my atoms,
Recreate me as a child of indefatigable primal desire";
"When we sigh good-bye, as often we trustingly must,
I weep like a newborn mother, craving your lips at my nipple.
All yearning day, eternal night, you fire inside me; I writhe."
07/11/11 - (1)
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