Something’s happening behind my back
hide-and-go-seek
black box theater
a honeyed foreplay in progress
unawares

Face,
resting in a pool
of bed fuss and forethought perspired,
the sun-drenched morning outside
prisms in behind the blinds
breakfast cherry marmalade
stick both skin
and linen
stain

All this
in a bed that has now become,
part theater
part playground
a small part convenient

He,
sometimes my lover but this morn
just an amphibian tongue
down the ladder of my back,
stopping to rest
to rest
his (lover’s) head
on my moon
swathed in nanny-white cotton
and that little part that rhymes with

'heinous'

With each
brush stroke of tongue
and saliva glint
he intuits a second coat
followed by a third…
he that is,
who is,
part mind-reader,
part man,
a small part Mesmer
in the bed
with the tongue
near the area that rhymes with

‘heinous’

I,
no more by seeing than doing,
a prosaic virgin unto myself no more
so sad,
so heavy, and almost irrelevant
that word,
it’s meaning,
like everything else,
it is…
sometimes less
and sometimes more

‘meaningful’

But this morning,
behind my back,
rim-around-the-rose-garden
he’s vignetting my body
to get near,
and with that tongue,
to sear,
that area that rhymes with

‘heinous’

And so it is,
my first boundary
less
lick,
my 1492:
part unwitting
part tried on
and a big part…

just right