Reckless fingers wandering
to Verboten Territory.
You could moderately warm an egg
on the skin that radiates heat from
love
and friction.
But I’m repeating myself.
They shift to optimize...
Maybe tectonic plates don’t mean
to create and destroy
the worlds on their backs
Maybe they’re just bent on contact
Maybe they like-like each other
They could be dancing
Like Shiva
Her seat moves
(Somebody’s thumb was up)
And she accepts the ride
Arms rest on
Arms resting
On arm rests.
She feels like she is on a swing.
Push me higher
She plays the sentry
Makes nervous sweeps of the curtained walls
But the only other faces,
Which seem better suited to the enormous room,
are too big to see such small earthquakes
and the powerful Play goes on.