Soft Shell

The morning hook
reaching in and underneath
she slips to her favorite position,
her soft shell is strong enough
to hold both of them.
This position of theirs
has been working for centuries.
She holds tightly to the sides
interwoven and locked
this is their first time
and her generous want is overflowing.
tiny twisted touching,
just as the sky is still so moody
she spreads her hands open
last night and that boisterous thunder
she mouths the command,
“Let me in.”
Barely above a whisper now
her hungry mouth wants to feed
that undeniable softness
she squeezes the life awake
her full attention controls them.
The skies naturally open up
gentle rain rhythms come in waves
at times a rough downpour,
followed by fingertips tracing
slowly pressing her mood downward
the edge is at their feet now.
With one good thrust
she pushes them up and off
Love floating
Love with no gravity
Love that curl the toes.
They land in heap
heavy out of breath,
there in the center
of their morning bed,
she gets dressed
and promises to be back at noon.

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