why does the body long for
the fleeting pleasures of the flesh?
another's hands drifting down
the curves of your body
like leaves in the fall
your hands gently clawing
through the candlelit darkness.
leaning into your lover
while they taste
the nape of your neck,
driven by a deviant desire,
compelled to harvest the flowers
before their sweetness succumbs to gravity's pressure- -
knowing the fruit will eventually
rot in the shade of post-consummation,
you reel with anticipation
of a rhythmic union.
blood pulsing through the veins,
each of you straining to extract that element of life,
that keeps us tethered to this world;
like plants beneath the icy surface of the tundra
awaiting springtime.
both submitting to nature's moment
of rare commitment to design