...at our feet.

Smooth sheets and polite whispering
The low rumble of kindness and care,
Tumbling into my ears.
Rustic sunsets bring justice to this ache
The day burns quickly to arrive here, now, into this night.

"Move closer..." the scent suggests
As heart rates scramble to remain calm
In this time of long-gestating release
Climbing into the warm skin of another
Has never felt so fine.

In theory, in dreams, in thought
The elbow slides outward, erasing this drought
Knees chime with hips, as the edge of heavy breathing
...dumps into the abyss of the  hysteria and havoc found,
...in "love lost in thighs".

The tongue sweats in salivary awareness
That Eden is at our feet.

Inconsequential- the day of the week,
The minute... the hour.
The clay in our hands- hardening
This kiln we create between us- Roaring.
Roasting us- from the inside, out.

This is an art,
To dance upon the Opus
That lay at our feet when all conditions align.
To articulate without analyzing
To love in the shade of harmonious ease
Where vulnerability fears nothing, and
Strength grows with every moment
Of genuine, traded care.

This lifetime is good.
To bestow such transcendent lore of the heart
To anyone-
Let alone, once... twice...
What are the chances that such euphoric interplay be found again?

They're good- I tell you
They're more than good.

If the gate of 'well-intentions' swings lightly
In optimism's favor,
That song can somehow find itself
Choreographing new chapters-
Rich with all the right reasons,
To motivate good love.