LIKE A TABLETOP SHINING Poem by Peter Verhelst

In bed we stare the clothes off
of each other on the floor,
a dress a shirt, nothing else left

to strip off: how we on hands and knees
rub beeswax into the floor
until the wood gives up the wax

while we size each other up on the bed
on the floor, smooth as a tabletop on which things
start to slide of their own volition -

against each other, away from each other,
slowly gliding across the wax, it seems so
effortlessly, the magnet under the table breathes

invisibly; a nipple from a breast, a breast
through a dress, a head through a shirt,
the head in the neck

that's how much I wanted
to have slit myself totally
open at her mouth.