the angle of my knees opening for you, two long
slow slides of a triangle completed by you:
primal, slick with all the ways I need you.

words in my mouth that have been yours, my skin
a baring of territory that becomes yours,
where every inch is charted and blessed.

here in the dim purity of your white bed perhaps
I could be whole: where your hands and mouth
grid safe paths, perhaps I could find peace.