My body is sore from all the places
we twisted ourselves into —
tangled together across the reclining seat at the end of your sofa.
I try this morning to read a book,
but my mind wanders
to your lips on mine — your breath in mine — its rise and fall and catch —
the way you move with me
the feel of your skin on my fingers
the curve of you in my hands
my lips on your lips
your neck
your shoulder
your breast;
my hands drawing you into me,
urgent and tender.
As we come up for air,
I don’t quite know where to find myself —
our bodies anchoring themselves to their longing —
woven this way and that through space.
kfw 2021
Undusted Corners 