POETRY

while we notice

the strong back

of a man, mineral

oil as it slides

under palms,

candlelight

smoothing skin

as much as darkness,

while pressure

moves with us

from the inside

shoulder muscles

to neck

to the blades

to ribs

to spleen

to kidney,

the sides of his

body, back

up the spine,

the shoulders

again, knead

again, we notice

his man-scent

of evening,

the skin

of this man: and

under outstretched

wrists of our

woman's arms,

we knowingly

mold him,

we carefully

shape his rest,

we lovingly

slide him into

our own dreams.