Sex on TV

your thighs, a morning glow,
eternal rainbows,
cracks of stars, reflecting
in your eyes. I look at you,
feeling your strong thighs,
the moon was moulded
into them, making you
a woman of infinite
splendour. I move
my hand lower
and lower, feeling
for the water
beneath your tomb
of flesh. What makes
you so desirable, woman?
When you hold yourself
up by your feet,
moving slowly
towards your end,
falling into the arms
of flocks, wanting
to forget that you
are, as a woman,
more than the bones
and flesh
behind the white-silk
skin. I lower
myself down, feeling
for your soft breasts,
touching the round,
radiating nipple. It comes
alive in my hand, and if
I close my eyes,
I imagine a diamond,
a rare, obscure
between the gaps
of my fingers. You gasp,
little birds fall
out of you, the open
mouth, letting
them carry, in pairs,
all your fears for
as long as I hold you.
‘Don’t leave me,’ you say,
believing with
all your heart, the sudden
urge to be possessed,
to want love,
to feel loved,
forever in this moment.
I kiss your neck,
catching the freckles
on my tongue,
feeling the slight
rise of skin,
your blood boiling,
awaiting the slaughter,
or the emergence
of flesh, as I enter,
slowly at first, filling
you up like a gush
of warm water,
you fall into me,
gasping harder, harder
you reach out
for me, clenching
me in your arms,
clinging to the
gradual rush of pleasure,
intensifying, moving,
like the world
has stopped
even for a second. I turn you
on your side, seeing now
a window of flesh,
and kiss your nipples,
your thighs,
your softly trimmed
armpits, all
your little crevices,
feeling the small hairs
prickle on my tongue.
You fall into me,
becoming me, and
reaching for your womb,
my soul calls out
to your soul,
riding like a black
knight, an angel
in white gown,
until, finally,
after one swift thrust,
we are the same,
you and I,
oh beautiful woman,
we have shared
the history
and the future
of the world.