Good Stuff Poem by James McLain

it's a dance,
rough, reckless,
the way we play,
pulling and pushing,
she grabs me back,
mouth open, eyes shut,
her head falls,
and I know
this is where the night ends,
her toes curl,
and we're lost
in the chaos of it all,
no love here,
just the raw truth,
a moment that doesn't last,
but it's good,
and for a second,
we believe it's enough,
until it fades,
and we're left
chasing the next pull.