Private Secret


For this tremendous stroke

of love, our world's been slowed

and psychic blinders on

we are alone rocking time

without the ticking by of

consequential thoughts.

We mean what we touch.

No room for outside of us

We play through awkward arms

and legs with passionate twists and

blunt plunges through each other

meaning all we feel

a consumption that

took too long to pass by us

a sweet sapping

that finally hurried us here

and presses our thighs wanting

to turn us out

be done with us

to be out somewhere between

a focus and a sigh and make

our stillness a strong current

just above the depths of sleep

When prodigal thoughts return

even breakfast sounds threatening.