Morning Play

These voluptuosly familiar games
we play nude in warm bedsheets
as the morning frost crackles in the sun
are a truer token of love than any other.
To say "I love" is like scratching a bugbite;
our beds have been shared with strangers
in distant embraces of flesh.
That sensational awe which nulls me
into an intermingled element of all
but especially you
as you gasp and shudder in like
transport seems too mysterious
to credit as proof of more than
some physical match of taste.
But those impulsive squeezes and tickles
when we soften our thorns and
play with the ultimate toys-
how can I explain?
When in kissing your sternum, I press
your breasts to my cheeks and blow,
that flatulent sound says "I love you"
more truly than any other.

by Jason Paul Fox

poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!

Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)