The Nature of It

Hands dipped into heated olive oil Emerged to rub together, dripping They slid heels down on backbone bumps Then returned on digging fingers Pushing into hardened gristle Kneading against shuddering bone In rhythmic pulsation in synch with her breathing The nape of her neck and the bone by her ear Shivered needle pin waves to the tips of her toes Under hot towels at the end of his session She wondered aloud at the magic he used It's all empathetic he whispered it low Like knowing and telling a horse where to go Or feeling the freedom of high flying falcons And the redness of tension to go with the flow She looked in his eyes at her rising of passion His hands joined with hers in her needing to know Outside the herd heard the stallion blow