By Bud Koenemund
For Kitty
The words – vulgar – not for use in polite company.
Yet, somehow beautiful in your mouth…in the moment.
Arms embracing…
Bodies superimposed…
Penetrating…
Fingers searching…
Intertwined…
Mouths touching, each breathing in the others' breath…
…and your moan in my ear, urging me on.
In the physical, we're not "making love,"
or merely "having sex." No, desire for one
another has driven us past that.
And, as our little deaths approach…
Inevitable…
Unstoppable…
"Fuck me!"
This plea, paired with endearments, becomes divine;
a connection to some heavenly thing I reach out to grasp
before plummeting
back to Earth.
