Epiphany

You, under my hand,
become more than skin and tingle and
moist throb,
more than wish and promise and
spasming possibility.
You become new, and each
unraveling of you,
becomes the trembling unfolding of
wonder and mystery.

You, under me,
becomes that urging moment that
drives my flesh to
swell and expand
and enter into you.

You, under my hands,
unfold, swell and drip
anew, as if my hands
have never known those warm secreted
places that draw me in.
You surround me in you,
and for the moment, the moment
blurs and streaks,
and blurs in the pull
till the final
spasming of wonder.

You, under me, become more
than you under me.
Your unraveling becomes a
raveling of us both.
Skin and nerve, once dormant,
shakes alive and strums and hums,
till the opening and unfolding of
your shrouded mystery.

You, under me,
holding me moist and tight
and warm,
in the crease of your being,
and your pulling and squeezing
in the surround that you are
swells me beyond me into
you. Then
one final epiphany
and you swallowing tenderly that
fleeting piece of me
that your mystery awakened.