Don Pearson - Space

There is space here
to consider that no outcome might exist,
that no fulfilment would itself fulfil.

We are suspended, enfolded
between playful, languid touches
and the coming convergence,
between seduction and loss of self.
You and I are still (you and I)
in this whispering time.

This calm shines with potential motion.
Your fingers on my neck, mine on your waist, our gentling lips
will break the spell,
cascade our incandescence and eclipse us both.

Dec 2000

Don Pearson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/space-8/