—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.
