So what if you’re across the room, seated
with friends. I sense rhythm of your breath, your
heartbeat as I watch you speak, repeated
nods of your listening head. Your smile cures
my distant longing, whether you glance toward
me or not. Something in you loves all. Is
it a gene? Kiss recalled, carried forward
from childhood? Decision from catharsis
while in her womb? Or some friend’s death? When you
move to me, I feel our world breathe gently,
like ocean at ebb tide. When I consume
you in my arms softly yet intently,
as flowers breathe air, our breasts rise and fall
as one, lost in our silent mating call.
Roger Armbrust
March 20, 2010
