The thickness of the air between us
pistons between our bodies in
the twilight chill of an autumn evening
and it is an agony to not have courage to
make this moment tactile.
But there is nothing here stopping me from
reaching out to touch you
nothing keeping from
laying prostrate between my strong brown thighs
and it is flame that leaps from my hands to your face
like lightning under glass.
It is the freedom to touch that
which has become vastly discernible to us both
this power that would engulf us in a
hot, moist tunnel
squeezing and pushing
like a mother’s moment hovering
between life and death
when her child’s shiny head emerges
through purple, engorged lips seconds
before exploding into this world
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