i longed for one small contact patch
a hand, an eye or more
all received by chance and nothing more

skidding now
now at the end of things
at the end of this i watch your sleeping back,
dreaming of your pleasure,
eyes crystallize and all resolve diffracts

tenuous i stretch a hand’s soft back,
tenuous i float in
with our history at hand,
tenuous i float in
with our every fumbled fuck,
with our love we sung,
with our love that suckled children,

with all our to and froing
with our love we gave them life
in spite of us they live for ever

and after all of this,
and after all of this you still retract,
from nothing as so simple,
from nothing as so pure,
a soft hand resting on
a contact patch upon your back,

a back that’s all you now reflect,
a patch with insufficient grip,
a vision of your lips, your hips and mouth
a vision of you riding, high above
a vision of your song to me

and after all of this you still retract,
all softness you retract
and I  retract, and reflect,
and I don’t know what to do