Five Fingers

I felt five fingers
pressed against my back
ancient and hard
baring weight like reason

I could ask you to touch me
(I always do in my own way)
and find that spot
hidden beneath old muscles

find that spot beyond
where I lie
in pre-adolescent confusion
my life - me and weathered

prayer beads

you can feel that I dream
in dark colors of sex
fallen from extinct species of flowers
whose scent remains a mystery of time

and the erotic thrust
of five fingers
through my heavy back
will expunge pre-millennial tensions

the sex of our intimacy
becomes Egyptian myrrh
bronzed skin glistening
like a Hollywood epic

and when you catch that scent
of time's self-obsession collapsing
into abyssal distraction
a world of signifiers with no signs
(or signs with no signifiers?)

I'll recreate planets in sex
simulated with self-aware novelty
drawn in parallel sequences
of color, taste, and gentle smiles

if you wonder how I love
trace the ironic continuum
the intimacy in words I cannot say
wrapped in movements I dare not take

the tragic nature in which I plod
apparent aloofness a disguise
masking the pain of desire unmet:

know my love as its inaction

mulched by your five fingers
silent creaking of my body
releasing coded sexual messages
in timorous sighs and gasps

it is best

(as always)
to recognize the body's failings
with a tender heart

open and reaching
your five delicate fingers

entreating