angels
he calls us his angels
and the luminous radiance within us both
burns with such
white heat
that we melt into his sides
lacing kisses across his collarbones
we are young skin
we are healing hands
we are uncomplicated desires
she and I touch eye to eye
speaking the language of
fingertips gripping fingertips
palms sliding over backs
we have stories to tell
of questions unasked and unanswered, sins of omission
of tears shed in alleyways and on park benches
of the complexities of which our tender hearts are capable
shouted up to a patch of night sky
somewhere between taurus and orion
(the pleaides looking on with faint sisterly concern)
but this is a stolen stretch of time
and we three are neither here nor there
but in a moment which is about
prostration before beauty
the making of offerings:
this is what I have to give
we drink each other's desire as if we are thirsty
we fuck as if we are hungry
and when we've finally loosed our passions
to fly wild round the room
tangling in our hair and waking the neighbors
we dissolve into giggles
we murmur dreamy words of love
we curl kittenlike into satiated sleep
he calls us his angels
this is what we have
we make it enough