James Christopher Carroll
BLOOD
Sometimes the morning reaches
Toward the afternoon and that part
Of the day is unable to answer. It feels
A tugging in its loins and remembers
The night, her hair undone, smiling
As love worked its cascade of heaven
Above him, his fingers moving in and out
Like so much weather caught between
The lips of desire. “Such joy should have
A name.”, he thought. The moon caught
In the tops of the trees unable to rise any further.
“I have trouble believing we are real, that
When we love this way there are no parts
Of day, no way to say my hands across your breasts,
My mouth licking you to ecstasy, my hands joining
Yours in touching, touching, touching.” The
Fires begin in the blood. The night flares with
Kiss after kiss. I tell myself I may not feel this
Way ever again. I pull you close and redefine
All that I am able to recognize as mystery and wonder.
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