The couch swallowed both of us—nearly as enveloping
as we were with our arms.
The shadow of your smooth cheek was painted on the wall
by that annoying street light across the courtyard.
I didn’t really know what I was doing—
But I knew damn well what I wanted.
Isn’t that the case with a sweaty twenty-one year old?
It’s all about knowing where to go, but never knowing the way.
The clothes were one by one tossed to the floor, or the chair,
Or god knows where.
As things pick up speed—I lost my sense of awareness,
And most others.
Young sex always smells and feels the same,
The bodies may be beautiful, but the action is jagged—lacking the smoothness of experience and practice.
Like those old cars who just haven’t quite died, and still somehow run.
Odd how two passionate young things
Can act like something so old and tired.
I gazed out beyond the window as I took a gasping breath and glanced at the clock on your well worn nightstand.
I knew it would happen soon but didn’t know when
As my eyes darted out passed the window sill and the one falling curtain,
I noticed the lights on the distant span go out—not all but half.
And then, from this perch high up on the hill
The progression of darkness could be seen-- slowly marching across the molten city.
Progressing until it reached our own hot place— but it really didn’t matter.
The lights were already out, we were plenty warm.
So we continued.
Until the wee hours of morning.. the sky like a desert—open and cobalt black.
Full of these things called stars that are mostly strangers to the urban night.
Finished and satisfied we piled outside, curious of the event, and the future, and of each other.
And shared the moments with the neighbors and the strangers.
Our night of embrace now a part of something bigger—no longer just our own.
Sitting by the pool-- laughing, smiling, drinking slowly warming wine—
I smiled but then remembered to glance again at my watch.
It had no mercy-- it could still tell the time.
And it told a somber message.
That he would soon be home
That this night, like any other with you—all would be shared, or borrowed.
Borrowed from this hot city in darkness, or a stranger to me who was nearly everything to you.
I could have you no more than the city could tolerate this darkness—
So, as the watch passed three… and the neighbors laughed, and you gave me that one last faint smile.
I made my way back to the solitude of my own couch…
And as I made my way through the crowded pre-dawn streets
Filled with people sharing themselves, and this city, and their experience.
The lights began to slowly return.
by: Christopher Blake Carver (c) 2010