just between us

we're done before one
literally, and rhythmically
making love, and other noises

you make a sandwich
while i smoke the bottom half in the garage
barely covered by a towel and the afterglow
you get me tea and try to hold your pants up

earlier we were looking at photos
and laughing about how you looked then
and you said good riddance to that old belly

everyone was a little fatter last summer, except me

i was small and pliable
with your fingers falling inside me sporadically
we let our tattoos bleed through
as we roughed up hotel sheets
and you sat naked at intervals
while we wrote blocks of poems
together, or next to each other

we were live wires -- creating a life
we were wrapped so tightly together
and spinning on that free air
those sighs, and screams and
those hotel sheets

but now we live as silent as that first reply
when you said nothing as i praised you
as secret as the first time i thought of you
as shy as that first smile when we were introduced
and you asked if i was going to kill you
as easy as that first touch on the porch
in the Ozarks when you put your foot on my chair
and i lay my hand there on your bare skin
as stealthy as the first kiss you stole
drunk on tequila and sopping wet from the hot tub
as sneaky as your hand on my breasts
on the couch that we shared
as gentle as the fingers that traced my face
as i slept and you watched me
as speechless as the ride to the airport in Kansas City
as quiet as the phone next to my head
as i watched you sleeping in another state

but there are moments, now, like the climax of our silent saga
where the energy that has been speaking without our tongues
builds and erupts and we violently, desperately,
smash into each other again . . .

those reminders of the spring and summer
when we became one flesh, over and over again; both being
touched for the first time