Conversation With A Naked Ascetic

This day is so ordinary it's impossible to find
the ghost of what happened or what we would do
if it wasn't for the night revealing the perfect pitch

for talking about sex. We talk of contentment,
the way you hold me closer when you're close
to orgasm. I listen to staggered breathe,

the stutters of your arms and leg and I
want to bite. I want to taste blood attached to flesh.
You understand what I mean, we want

to devour each other but we know we'll never
be complete although it's almost possible the way
you stay inside me just because you can

and it doesn't matter we've finished,
we can always start again. We try to explain
what togetherness means, slowly choosing

words to describe what it is we like. You
say I've got a gorgeous ass or that my mouth
is so soft because it's made for sucking your cock.

I laugh and say you have the strongest arms,
the most beautiful chest, the best lips I've ever kissed
and still, we haven't explained a thing.

The time you said you felt like crying came close
to when I said you are a naked ascetic,
someone who sleeps under a blanket of leaves

and by day wears only the bark from trees
easily removed when the day is anticipating
the night will witness the love we make.

Alison Eastley lives in Tasmania, Australia, but would rather live in New Mexico. She's married and actually lives with her husband plus her two sons and is waiting for a frilly floral apron to fulfill her fantasy of living in a male-dominated household. She has another son and he pretends he is an artist, which is better, she supposes, than admitting he's a lost cause with a bad hair cut.