Small words, completing the day.
Something specific & kind, “Thanks
for cleaning my hair out of the bathtub,”
would do. Words to draw our bodies
closer, while feet or fingers casually intermingle
thumb-pad to thumb-nail, toe to instep.
No heat, yet, but courteous companionship
that gradually generates heat
until you perhaps, or I, slip off
A stirring might call to me
or you might feel compelled
to explore me like a field of wildflowers
the exploration slow and languorous
as a summer afternoon
with nowhere particular to go.
Then, as afternoon dissolves to twilight,
the trusted dynamos engage.
Engines deep in the body
and more touch,
oil and heat,
shifting through gears
disrupting the flower-strewn fields
blasting the summer afternoon
throwing up roadbeds and bridges
spanning chasms, forging
and smelting, recreating
the entire industrial revolution
and out of control.