The Things We Could Do

We could make love, you and I.
We've already become intimate friends
and at no loss to virtue or distance
between Me lips
and She lips.
Already we know what the other
needs, wants, hopes for.
Already I've stolen grasps
at the slender bone at your waist
and the softer flesh of a thigh.
Already we know too little
not to want to know more.
Not to want to know how the rest
of one's skin feels under the other's
fingers.  Or lips.  Or appreciative eyes.
Already, I've thought about it
enough times to see it all.
Already I've seen so much
That I want to see more.

We could do all that.
We could consume one another.
Savor flesh like fruit
Until every ounce of juice
splashes brightly on our tongues
Or drips languorously
down our chins,
staining our favorite shirts.
We could giggle when anyone asked.
We could smile into the morning sun
walk straight, but slow.  Be there, but not now.
As if to say: What stain?

I could hold you in my mouth,
carry the taste of you with me
like hard candy.
And no one would have to know.
You could dance on my tongue.
You could dance.  Just for me.

Oh, the things we could do.