Evan

Your face at the zone, somewhere far from ecstasy, tells me all we know, far away from time, or daily political commentary, a life combines with mine, your neck smooth as loam, when your torso pulls free, helps me rest your bones, on Sunday's drink wine, and you my lover seize, love from this turbulent clime, resist life's fine tooth comb, dance like a honey bee, not the smell of scones, or a house besides the sea, at the bottom of the cone, some other fantasy, as our bodies list and groan, let us dare to be, angels coming home, watching morning TV.