Out Of Africa

 

I watched her sitting in my chair

relaxed, enjoying evening,

a friend grown close, or maybe more,

a play undone with readings.

A month it took to tease her here

although we hung out often

nights she spent with her dear aunt

weekends were beaches, dolphins.

One eve we sat inside a pub

a table made for six

nine of us so closely bound

her thigh was different.

Again I landed next to her

here beside my chair

awkward beyond pleasantries

my arm near buttons there.

She asked me about breakfast

how did I make it? Tell!

Did New York have a chef

nearby? Her laugh was a bright bell.

Her knee rose up the armrest

I blocked out all the news

she didn't look around my neck

glanced up, sharp eyes, new views.

I smiled and touched a button

slid it through the slit

opened up quick moving hill

and gave it a brief kiss.

My chair's now a museum piece

it will arrive there next

remembering the moment when

it nested radiance.

She raised my hand and kissed it

put it on her blouse

closed her lips and snuggled up

looked over at the couch.

Heaven is remarkable

they say it sits up there

but I can see just where it goes

it can claim anywhere.

Then she rose above me

pulled off her silken blouse

revealing pointed meanings

deep curves towards the couch.

There's where our movie started

a classic was unreeled

her lips were playing many parts

they spoke, I wrote appeals.

My hand ran down her back

tested, then further down explored

to reach the bottom of the world

where we reached the foard.

In the Serengeti

endless plain of life

I tore into her underwear

we crossed the river twice.

We were gazelles in flight that night

sharp crocs always nearby,

in darkness reaching shore

we slept,

dear friends again,

alive.