for Jennifer
We are spoons, you and I.
Face to face, staring at each other’s concavity.
Reflexes reaching out from our deepest ends.
Distorted?
Upside down images in each reflected upright?
And then when you turn around we fit in perfectly.
Puzzle pieces.
Puzzled in a way that makes sense.
And our spooning soon progresses.
One of our favourite sex positions.
Your leg on top flexes.
It opens the middle gate.
The common country where we'll unite.
One of my arms holds the weight of your thoughts.
That hand freed for touch.
The other hand fully free to touch you bounteously—
a fisherman's wife's dreamed octopus but in a decimus form.
And then we feel.
Spoons holding our liquids.
Drops us.
Flow.
* * *
The other days, most of those days, we were lying down.
Our convex back on various pillows.
Our minds flying above us.
Scooping for organic food.
Lost in translation, in complexity found.
