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
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