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Here love---
no rush to crush the bedding,
no run to sensual sounds,
lay you here by me,
and pretend all of life
will be walled
in just these hours
of touch and explore.

Let me celebrate your skin,
all the you life put you in,
let me feel the lattice
that years have spun,
pulse and veins,
sweet cells with nowhere
to hurry,
save into my arms.

Be blind with me,
so we can know
the truth to every mark,
the real of every scar,
not faded flesh,
or sad pucker,
but the celebrated
sacred of each self.

Make love another day,
chase juices and luminscent
tumescent explosions
some other night,
if there can be another---
but tonight,
lie with me
trail fingers,
touch skin,
sip the sleeves of being,
and make with me
what no other has come
so close to being,
you the one i choose
to sensual knowing,
my last mystery spread
on your sheets
with tender regard,
and total trust.

Take.
Make.
Create.
Celebrate the we,
that once I may know
something owing nothing
to frenzy---
and all to seed and spark,
where lips speak
only the tongue
the gods have taught.