by John Sydney South
(02/25/09)
Sun enters the room as I enter you,
languorous, ravenous (from sleep's
fast) to taste your sweaty skin,
your rigid nipple, while my cock ripples
your aching surface like a rock
parting water: throbbing earth
submerged in a world warmer
than the wolf inside me
could experience alone in the dirt.
Pumping away drowsiness,
stubble rubs against smooth flesh,
an animal marking love and lust.
Your scent and sex -- half-bitter, half-sweet --
soak my senses.
Lips against each other:
first tender, sprinkled with
touching of nose to nose.
Then desperate, tongues flicking,
pressing past the home of words
into the forest of sounds:
sighs, gasps, grunts.
I watch your contours
streaming wildly back and forth,
large islands of your breasts
shaking, your arms around my waist,
holding the trembling, the releasing --
my hot come filling your wet cave.
We are as near to nothing and everything
as we can be and still be alive:
no longer human or animal,
just together.
The bed sheets are illuminated,
and in each other's arms we whisper
about satisfaction and breakfast.
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux