Making waves (1997)
This is my secret pleasure.
honey-sweet, I taste it
on my tongue, the smell of me
the old cruel ache that builds
like pain, the friction of the skin
I lose myself , become all nerves and
skin and heat, drowned in coming
jolting slow in long soft waves.
at times like this I lie alone
marooned in quiet, adrift
from outside sounds, the room
is filled with shadows, dusk
the darkening day, time lengthens
settles like a cloud, my dreaming self
is stirring, floating free. I’m smiling
at the ripeness of the world
rocked in lust, in grief
the tenderness of perfect ease.