I wake up excited
by lips and hands.
She is over me
under me
in me like a fervent prayer.
I arch myself inwards
where the waves play.
Where tide and the moon tug
each others bodies.
I am the questing
the finding
the flirtatious near miss.
I am the fluid summit
that falls back on itself.
On mornings like this
there is no God
no religion
no theory of anything.
There is just feeling
the grasp of sensation
lifting skirts up
breathing in.
