Aching to Hold On

You write politics and I drink the wine;
my thoughts on sex while you pontificate.
The right-wrong of the world surrounds me –
your ideas swirl in my wine-soaked mind.

You talk and I am still thinking of sex…
of the long, lean body of that man
two tables over – blond brown locks rakish
across his eyes, the kind of blue I could
drowned in, forgetting until the morning
we occupy this place on different planes.

My body is aged with life, waist thickened
with experience; thighs parted in birth
and pleasure, my arms ache to hold on to
where we have been… and where we want to go.