What We Can Remember On Sunday Afternoons Poem by RIC BASTASA

when everyone is gone
to church
we find ourselves alone
as we lock the door
and then begin
to have that silly
talk on the sofa
as our hands begin
to compose
the symphony of
yes, love we call it
love
as our lips begin
to search the wetness
of the feelings
as our necks entwine
like vines
as our bodies fuse
like a nuclear
phenomenon and then
we know the beautiful
power of explosions
below the pink boundaries
of our two bodies
something that no one
can hear
except our two ears