Superposition

I. I walk with you
through crunchy leaves,
my hand grazing in the small of your back.

II. In your midnight bed
we wage a furious war
for flesh and pleasure.

III. I touch a cold windowpane
imagining your fingernails
scoring the far side of the glass.

IV. I crack an egg
and pour the neon yolk
between your spread legs.

V. Across a desperate café table
you reach out for my hand
unable to form anything like words.

VI. I ejaculate all seven seas
and you fall into a dreaming sleep
as heavy and weightless as a manatee.

VII. Outside the weather’s pretty nice,
it’s bright but not too warm.
You butter toast and we
begin to discuss Brexit.