MASSAGE

You are stretched on the bed

Face down

I lean above you

A sculptor in the act of creation.

I hold your shoulder in my hand

I rotate and polish

Till the skin gleams like gold

I discover shoulder blades

I can feel the ridges

Where your wings were attached

When you flew down to meet me.

At last the Great Plain:

Your back whispers an invitation,

My hands slide, glide circle, flow

Like two delirious skiers eager for snow.

Your blood rushes to the surface

To greet the heat of my hands,

The perfumed oil caresses your yearning cells

My hands climb down the ladder of your spine.

A sudden gift: symmetry!

A gift for each hand

Muscular roundness

I am Columbus, you are America.

I roam over this beloved continent

Plowing the soil of your body

With my insistent fingers

Harvesting quivering sighs.