—LET’S DANCE, WHEN WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE

 

 

let’s

 

let’s make it

to 98 and

still fornicate

like hell

have a ball

in the hall

front yard

backyard

on the kitchen island

(using a step ladder

for leverage 

if we have to)

on the balcony

(where the neighbors

might see us)

or on a beach

under a fragrant palm 

(coconut cream)

perhaps in a tree swing

(if we can fit

inside the O without

breaking bones)

let’s giggle

in the bath

rubbing soap bubbles 

(how cute, right?)

down our chins and nose

let’s gargle wine from

each other’s

mouth

navel and

private parts 

(yeah, those. 

particularly those...)

let’s hold hands

at the supermarket

(even if we’re 

both a bit bent

and hunched over)

let’s talk dirty

right before

and during the 

times we’re busy

being dirty

(i'll always hand you 

a fresh washcloth,

pinkie swear)

let’s take our slow walks

down the lane  

whisper to stray deer

(everyone's true

spirit animal)

sneak under a cedar

smooch and fondle and 

drum up some friction

beneath that swell smell

(heck, yeah.

why not?)

let’s twirl naked 

in the hail 

(cuz you've still got it

and i'll always 

want it from you) 

and squeal like 

we’ve just done

the best drugs ever

(it's eternal 

sunshine / dopamine, duh?

yet it's ours alone)

let’s not forget

to be each other’s

first thing

day thing

last thing 

(to me, you 

mean everything)

and let’s never

say "last time" 

again 

let's remember 

the "first time" 

(please)

that we 

found each other 

(please)

and all the rest 

that led us

so ungracefully 

yet gracefully

to this.