love, more or less

Passion splits skin like

an overripe melon

straining its boundaries –

Daring to go beyond

convention,

what’s safe.

Comfort assumes new meaning,

reaches deeper –

until again, it stretches.

And what once exhausted

now sets the tone

for beginning anew.

Unzipping skin

in unabashed nakedness –

standing or lying

or sitting before another

like a well-polished mirror –

a little too frank,

yet one cannot look away.

Hot breath steams it over

momentarily, only to resolve

into palpable dampness –

running from the glass

like beads of sweat

flowing freely from rosy flesh.

Rivulets of salt and desire

commingling with sounds

prehistoric,

otherworldly –

a snake uncoiling,

then poised to strike –

and, once bitten,

one’s capacity for tolerating

the sweet venom increases

until, eyes dilated,

pulses pounding,

the blood purifies itself –

and we are healed.