So close to each other, still there’s skin between
so thin as to be membrane, softly
containing the breathing of our spirits.
A little while ago our yearnings
flailed against each others body’s doors,
demanding holy sanctuary,
or like salt waves bursting into spray
spent against stubborn rock,
which nonetheless gives way if given time,
we fell to each other over and again,
conquer and surrender each the same
as stone and water, finding what remained
when the fierce rhythm settled, slowed
into soul and muscle, flesh and spirit,
man and woman, breathing.
Wry Welwood
late 20th century,
re-edited June 2021 for The Lark on Medium.
republished July 2023 in Shadow in Light on Substack.