the bed

our forearms dangling off

like the cart of a coaster on climb,

overlooking the slash pines, sabal palms

and heat. heat: the breath of hair,

cheeks, hands. breath:

in grasp of the descent;

a window of the world, the lid

of a globe. we’re in bed.

never ready for the loops.

the dark collapses and i too

fall into some preserver

of your body, a straight track

on medium speed. do turn

yourself over, do sway yourself

into the wind you made 

while going left-right

north-east

to Polaris, to paradise

more enticing

from far away

always.

roll me back like scroll

let me ride without the bars

and belts. let no one touch

my spine, my spindles. i hear

the coast from a bedroom window, 

a scream, eyes 

squirming shut. 

heightened touch.

ending spot.