The Smallest and Most Precise of Circles Felt

Breathe deep as
Fresh morning air fills grateful lungs
Spring rains on parched desert plains
My mind still fond to trace
Memories of hot breath on your soft sleeping neck
Fingers move through
Sharpened spines
To smooth cactus skin beneath
The space between

For once I felt
Your hands to flow
Amongst settled careless hairs
As I lay beside your resting thigh
Soon to be followed
By hours spent
Trading mortal moments
Beneath luminous strings of beaded threads
Arms in knowing embrace
The smallest and most precise of circles felt
The small of my back
The curve of my spine

Taking it back
All back
Way back
To hours spent in bed with foreign bodies:
Not yours
Shapeless sand replaced by
Beds of olive green
Not sleeping
But rested just the same

25 thoughts on “The Smallest and Most Precise of Circles Felt

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