Off the Clock

.
Your sexual specialty, and mine
will take us to opposite ends
when the time comes.

But we're off the clock
without a second hand,

though it's our hands that linger
with fumbling fingers that

nervously probe and retract
with each gasp and sigh.

It's refreshing to be unsure,
hesitant and halting,

your seek-and-find eyes on me
as I try not to look back too long.

That's how awkwardly pleasant it feels
as we both relearn how to be virgins.

To be surprised:
a string of shivers and thrills,
as if we don't want to already know.

This gives me a delicious place
to writhe around on and into

the catnip of your herbal,
the fur sprouting from your animal.

Even as we both hesitate
the way some first-time lovers do.

The call and response from the heat
of our want, and the give of our wet.

The lazy southern lavishing with
skin's contact of taking our time,

the synchronized movements
and knowing ways
are yet to be established.
.