the status quo (did not fit)

the status quo did not fit

her tight jeans

nor the lacy Victoria Secret

underwear

nor the French kiss sweetened by the clear

stream waters nearby

where the meditation rock sat impassively

waiting with infinite patience

for the two naked people who eventually came

giggling

slipping

giggling

slipping

over the newly laid wood of a moonlit deck.

a tongue filled with intensity

redder than her blood

crawled inside an orange and white

tent

once it was fully erect on the deck

by the kitchen wall

under the spreading hemlock tree

(and no easy feat that was

without instructions!)

and sought the mother-earth

of the warm woman

who in her suggestive energy

triggered a landslide of desire

(which shook the soft tent)

as it buried itself

deeply inside her mouth.

she remained still like a Goddess

carved from a different light

with strong arms

listening to Mozart and a perfect piano,

or searching for a meaningful book,

a poem, perhaps,

an unfailing mariner,

an ever clearer sky.

her thin body 

cloaked in nothingness

and yet with everything real

trapped his head with her hands.

then the slow morning 

made famous

by the sleeping beauty

who discovered his hunger where her ass

had only recently been

ticktock ed

paused

giggled

and eventually slipped

into its' own quiet afternoon

when two smaller cavorting dogs

with no hint of solemnity

walked into their cages and fitfully slept.