Well Bottom Blues

(10)

     Writing poetry is an unnatural act
      — Elizabeth Bishop

Nothing kinky. Think cuddles: the collapse
of two into one, of that one into comfort:
the innocent–the long hug, the movie couch–
and the afterwards, coming back from bliss

where union is fully consummated by touch
skin to skin, hands measuring from shoulder 
to hip the full depth of desire, while the eyes 
meet in stillness, faces in perfect relaxation

lines vanishing, as if the secret of eternal youth
were both fountain and well, the rising up
and the lowering into, the perfect circle
of hot yang and cool yin embracing.

Desire does not fade with age; craves
what shaves away the weight of age.

Also..

“A fine thunder peals / will with its friends and soon, from agony / put the fire out.”

—from DS #44