Some Baby's Knocking at my Fleshly Door

In the crush of first lust
surrounded by foggy mirrors
images repeat endlessly
on the same old theme
reducing in size, revealing less & less
the deeper we peer: words echo each other
without resonance or reverberation,
swimming, struggling to the surface
of their true intent.

Making new ties, one self
tangles a net of self-doubt,
muddling for safe anchorage;
the other weaves sensuality,
drifting towards green surrender.

Always the problem of how to see
through another’s eyes: burdened
with joy, falling into the future
needs that go clash in the night.