For Free

When I hold you to my breast,
tip my fingers over ridges
of your spine, turn my cheek
to flutter lashes on the thatches
of your chest, lay my dreams
against the hollow of your throat,
nothing matters

there.

All the weary days of care subside,
curled quiet as bright flores sleep--dark,
as if the Sun had closed its shine to rest.

When you lay buried in the cave
of our confession, tell me what you feel.
Nothing was ever wrong that feels
like love.

Call it whatever you want.

I have seen the night
shade ochre in your eyes,
the twist of lips that pleasure,
almost a sob when hips jerk
and we tremble together,
release the only freedom
we have left.