After Orgasm

my body burns in its secret chamber, a full feeling, like youthful elbows pressing against earth in a late at night passing of the jug, a what-does-it-all-mean round robin. What does it mean, this post-throb throb, sperm swimming to no more eggs, baby-shop closed, heart still open? For hours, I walk bow-legged around these embers, summer sun pounding down, carrying you to the park and back, air hot-petal sweet. Soon, the ashes will cool, a beach fire-pit the waves douse, but where flames once danced, they’ll dance...

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