Tangled in the brew of knotting hair and mingled flesh
we wrestle.
The mind is our mat and we move in and out
anticipating one another’s next movement.
I want to grapple you down.
We swim.
In the swamp of separation, you save me
grab the torso and pull me to the banks.
I can take in breath, eyes relieved.
Our heads touch.
My mind and your mind feel the movement within.
Spinning sphere in our heads make heat,
friction builds and we are one.
I enjoy the slow rhythm of the poem which allows for some of the oblique comparasons and anecdotes of the poem to seamlessly pass and add a playful and quirky tone. (i.e. Line 8, i feel like the expectation at the word torso is sexuality, not the continuation of the anecdote of the swamp)
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