Alive

Alive

It could not have turned out better had we followed the directions,

Your calf found the pocket of my knee,

Your thigh, with just the right clench,

Kept my hips in check.

Your hand, dressed in sheet.

If love were an art

We’re the piece not to be found.

But love is about the passion,

About the rogue ankle reaching towards the ceiling,

The fingers blooming and retracting,

The chin to forehead, nose to neck battle for dominance.

Love is about the chaos,

The toes parted by Achilles, the heels dug into shins.

It’s about the pain, the strain and stretch.

It’s about the emotion, the breathing and sighs.

It’s about the truth of feeling.

Love is about the eye-to-eye stare,

The green-to-green attraction,

Love is about feeling alive.