Panoramic Rhapsody

That afternoon it started, as soon as the doors closed behind them,
Frantic they perspired, quite inspired, pushing fabric past the topography of two writhing bodies,
New in their togetherness, but intimately familiar, like fingers plucking at a harp only they play,
The sound of hunger, is as soft as that of satin tossed at a cold, tiled floor,
The taste of heaven, laced upon those supple lips, the bristly beard on the pink of a neck,
The raw sound of mounting ecstasy, spiraling shadows of a two-headed being,
The trance, the dance, the shivering, shuddering, the wildly pleasurable gyrating,
The open mouths, the urgent breathing, the flushed skin, fingernails tearing,
By night it began, as soon as the sun drowned in its own fire,
She lay by his side, un-beautifully reposing, frazzled hair, sweat-matted to her forehead,
Her face nestled against his chest, lips parted, supine breaths leaving the sloping breast,
Even as she jittery-ly flung out her limbs in her dreams, possessed she seems,
he held her close, as if she was his zoetic heart cradled in his arms,
And she said she was not the crying type, had never been.
Yeah, tell that to the blades of his shoulder where she grappled,
As terrified sobs rippled through her ribs, dreading their parting,
For fear of all the places inside that would break, if this ever ceased to be,
As the morning rubbed its eyes, stretched out and smiled, they both were changed,
Emblazoned minds, braided melancholy, engorged hearts, never to be separately whole again.