In the medical center dreariness
I wait for him – his flu vaccine.
Outside, the feathery pepper tree,
fecund green in shade and sun,
stirs my mind to morning sex.

He rouses me, long past my fertile years,
as much with texture, love’s open hand,
as with his mouth, his touch.
How even in our silences we quicken
to each other’s measure, the weight
we give to language’s humanity,
to art, imagination’s host,
to laughter, kinship in the play of wit.
Over time, we’ve traveled distances,
foreign and domestic, unticketed,
our right of way.

stubbled face above my own – I shout,
break windows in some unsuspecting place.
Who planned this primordial pleasure,
without benefit to species?