They Ruined Sex

Wave and wave of heat ascending the other from the pelvis up.
 
And the colors, your breasts with a trickle of sweat caught sparkle from the moonlight.
Your face is red. Your irises are tiny puddles of water,
and I'm losing focus in the rainbow film.
 
You expand your lungs in with mine.
I hold you like a bear and make our hearts beat a pattern lock-step match.
 
It's just hugging you. Pulling you down on top of me
where the stars aren't peeking and the sheets are sunken sails.
 
I'm just crying. I'm just crying. I don't know
how you came so close to me here
from where I only knew you afar.
 
The tighter the squeeze. The deeper I go up into you and you fall away onto, with me
from all sorts of reality.
 
All nuzzled necked when I kiss you, my lips turned, some whisper from a willow when I was outside alone on a hill accompanied only by a windy day.
 
It's not sex. It's not sex at all.
 
Wrestling in the bed is not sex.
Licking you down your waves of energy of a quickening timer,
as long as we're the only ones,
this is an eternal pack
between two souls.
 
How could it be sex
with our sacred vows caught between the other's lip?
 
They have sex. And if that is sex, we have no part
in it.
The loveless motion, the mindful strategy because the romance was an escaping phantom
and leaves their sex depraved of fantasy.
 
Or the wanting so much.
The lines in your back that I love to touch and trail.
Because you work so hard, your back is longing in graceful stroke
and intensive rub down and in
until I pat your big behind.
 
You're a curvy one  
in their sexless world.
 
Because they ruined sex.
They exploited it and divulged it until all it was was bodies.
 
But you are a body with eyes, dreams. I know them.
I can feel them.
And all your pain,
I can feel the traumas too, in a slow fade into human mesh.
 
So if the world is sex,
we both are virgins.
I'd never have that in my entire life.