A Little Orgasmic Song

The song, the little song I sing tonight
comes back to life as easily as touch.
It fills my mouth and as I try to write,
it tells me once again I try too much.
I laugh and drop my paper and my pen,
surrender to the rhythm of her hair,
control my urge to sing, but sing, and then
in joy, enjoy her echoes everywhere.
The rumpled sheets express chaotic notes
which smooth as they transcend our falling flesh.
Originating in our human throats,
our songs become angelic, inter-mesh
like bodies in a symphony of life,
like lovers once again as man and wife.

Leave a Reply