Gene Goldfarb


We meet in a slow moist belligerency
of heated bodies, flesh clenching flesh,
yet seeking more,
one pounding anxiously against the other                                           
until an ancient rhythm’s discovered
and the impetuous dance quickens
as we feverishly taste sweat and salt,
and smell fading flowers.

Then the urgency overtakes us.
We are tickled and defeated
into incredibly delicious convulsions
that blind and obliterate everything.
With one final languid subsiding thrust
we are bleached of desire, ambition
         and self
till at last we dissolve and settle
into the nothingness of night                                                            
and the great design of things.

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