Dawn to Dusk

Dawn,
my fingers circle your wrist,
your breath, one of the first of morning,
kept from waking as it is chained
by antici-
pation.
The sun’s first rays strike your cheek,
you arch against me, moving, slowly
in that first gasp of light,
that sudden, unforeseen joy of morning.
Sheets, tumbled to floor, abandoned
in a moment when passion meets music
and we shift, slide, slip
from pose to pose, the subtle, unexpected strength of my arms keeping gravity from claiming you and drawing you to the floor,
the pressure of air second only to the tension forming bridges between us as we shift, again, tectonic,
two continents coming together, mountains formed by the rising of our hips,
the peak of your knee sliding til it rests
against the plateau of my ribs.
The sun shifts, playing among the clouds
as if to the beat, hides, blushing,
too moved by our movement to continue its voyeuristic guard over what proves,
in that tiny gasp of darkness,
to be tango.

Dusk,
another song, the most recent
in a parade of songs.
A woman, dressed in the skirts of moonlight,
dances still with the pale blush of Luna and shadow kissing her skin. 
Firm in his arms, she dances still,
moved beyond thoughts of manna,
drunk on dreams beyond ambrosia,
she dances, still caught tight by morning
lost and evening gain, again casts herself
into the world of sensations shared,
where moon and sun turn in waltz,
and the earth itself is but a ballroom floor.
She spins, and comes to rest on his shadowed chest, that silhouette of past and future that echoes in the present, 
that avatar o

f movement and desire, 
together the storm of blossoms in a cherry spring, 
the pull of stars, and the kiss of light,
the soft melody of breath become harmony, in and out together til heads are light,
borne down to the soft grass, the soft cotton of the world, stripped bare of cloth and worry and transcended to step and turn before this Adam, this Eve succumb
to the desire heavy on their tongues.