On Making Love Poem by Annabel Cruz

That place you find so easily
Eludes me like a dream
I can’t remember
Though I feel it tingling, warm and fuzzy
On the tip of memory’s tongue
It fades the harder I pursue and
I must resent you
With your sure-footedness
A mountain goat of ecstasy
One foot, and then the next,
Hard and steady,
Till you’ve reached the top

I hold your body moist as clay, quivering
In solitary victory,
No sense of time and space
You are not here
You have left me far below
Lost among the foot hill
Defeated and alone
I raise my white flag to welcome you home
With limp arms and hollow stare
Resolved to give no more
You have reaped the bounty
Won the gold
I will not place the laurels on your head.