Original Human Poem by Deborah DeNicola

We simply can't stand up, our faces two red berries
glazed together, still damp after love. The way my right eye
studies your left, lines at the temples grinning also. The way
our noses rub like sniffing pups and how my mouth
keeps lolling open, as if to inhale the whole room,

blanket, pillows, sheets, your ear lobe, tongue, world
converted at noon, office to bedroom. And we are hungry
well past lunch, organic tendrils,
persimmon, pomegranate, plum
I liked how he called what we did deep kissing,
as if it qualified for the Olympics. I loved how we
rocketed into one comfortable animal on the floor cushions,

that close, like Plato's original human.
Did we reach the soul we share? Did it murmur
before it bellowed like a comet inside us. And how often
will we bring our flock of appendages back?

Like moths sucking up to summer doorways, lamp lit
in darkness, pull of moonshine on water, megalithic
wand sparking the sea, hurling curves
of that joint body, Platonic pattern in motion
finding form like this and finally unafraid to drown.