I’m too lazy to be truly idle
except in your arms;
they mean business, gently,
as one of them finds calm, uncloying purpose
around my shoulders.
Some, just a few fingers dance around
the smooth, round edge where shoulder meets into bicep,
where all the rolling earth meets the brown, Kristang sky.
You smile hazily at me,
betraying almost nothing
of the tenuous, deeply excited fear
that soaks through your bones
at being beheld
so intoxicatingly
by another man’s
dreams.
I wade through some of your fantasies,
gently brushing the sex aside,
and lean into the crook of your arm,
nose pressed gently
against where undershoulder becomes real,
dashingly fertile
armpit.
Someone inhales.
Longing is left
to a lucid, languid lull
as you finally get comfortable.
I shift my weight a little further.
Your head rests gently against mine.
Let my energies decline serendipitously;
let our love come rushing out slowly,
like the first vagrant, divine melodies
of a river.