Spooning

I can not lie still, here, with you.

My hands are restless

they need wander and devour.

The territory of your naked body

bent against mine

drives them wild

so much smooth flesh open to exploration.


I fidget, and you stir who so easily falls asleep.

It is this way every night.  I fidget and you stir.

I lay staring into the void with my own thoughts echoing back

and you fall free

sleeps winds buoying

you just in reach.

I could snatch you from the air,

waken you with lips pressed roughly to mouth

hands exultantly racing across you like

ravens on the wing or...


But “we’re” tired.

And “we” have work in the morning.

And that doesn't, hasn't, won't, work.

We don’t make love spontaneously,

like a doe in a still forest, our sex.

A timid creature easily spooked,

only caught through

careful planning, discipline, foresight and intuition.


So, I cannot lie with you this way.

I turn to keep the hands from you

and you sleep, and I stare.