Interface

It is a more consuming embrace than mere 
tactile boundary; there’s an unending bond, 
a continuity beyond libidinous beginnings - 
it is an interface with destiny you aspire to, 
you’ve awakened in ardency’s space when 
all-consuming closeness arbitrates without 
shame; there you meet the woman of your 
dreams - & she agrees without reservation 

It is how I imagined Heaven would be, you 
start to say, and it’s acquiescence founded 
in our cone of silence; she moves, without 
visible motion, absorbing everything, it’s a 
cliche I know but truth because I felt what 
changed without needing a pull of gravity 

© 3 July 2014, I. D. Carswell