Issue 14
Pressing and Yearning

You stood on the stool
so you could reach down

cradle my face up to yours;
we slow-danced to Van Morrison

‘Have I told you lately

that I love you?’

You above, pressing down,
me yearning, always this
pressing and yearning.

Once I closed your eyes
circled you slowly, touched
gently with my tongue the places
you wouldn’t anticipate
I lifted you to the bed,
pressed into your yearning,
you tossed your hair

a storm of disarray
then kissed and laughed
your way down my body.
I stroked and glided
your arms, stomach, legs

after we tucked our feet
beneath the covers,
drank wine, pecked
tortellini, salad,
each others’ lips.

What is this we have,
where nothing is more loving
than anything else – a kiss,
a phone call, the flash of eyes
at the market, feather-slip
of hand on back

lips on neck?

They say the spirit yearns
to God, or the universe, longs
to join the cosmic symphony.

When we press and yearn
we are already there,
absorbing, dispersing, singing
What better home
could we possibly find?