Intimate Conversation

It's the art
of moving
past the innuendo.

Once the barriers
are broken
and the shields
have hit the floor,
the bodies
hit the canvas
and the caution's
out the door,
the subtlies are
all but gone
and feeding
every thrill
there comes a time
when last of all
the movement
halts at nil.

When every whim
has spoken
and each fiber
has been traced
the time at last
has surely passed
and then
the passion's wrung.

The arias have
all been brought
and on the mountains
sung.

What-now
is this empty space
and how is it to fill?

How do we pass
the time along
and not to bring the kill?

The awkwardness
of doing naught
with naughtiness all done,

it seems the last,
the final straw,
has intimately won.

We look into each other's eyes
and tell our past and pain

and think that if we share these thoughts
somehow we'll be all gain.

But this is not enough to know
that what we've shared is true,

and this leads us onto wandering paths
where one is made from two.

runningturtle87