Not Another Fucking Poem

You, naked, barely on the edge
of the bed, blinking, white as a candle,
alight on a plate, and your breasts,
together, cheerful as dolphins.
The way we played, you,
wet between your legs,
and me, hard between mine —
but wrestling, braiding fingers,
me pushing you down,
you, pushing back, see-sawing
as you laughed,
allowing us to forget all that.