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the bed
our bed
is a two-person island,
we are castaways
from other sides
in its center, we are lovers
making love in the art of
making war, sideless we
blend ripe juices of conquest
surrendered and satiated
like lords of the dance
far away
from mortal combat in the untamed
jungle of our bliss, ascending and
descending
vagabonds on a caravan
searching for the holy grail
thirsty for grace
sometimes the best conversation
is made, sometimes we have
nothing to say
but sleep comes and in it we are
dreamers, embracing then
moving away, you on your edge,
me on mine,
falling.
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