Buried in the same plot,

a thousand years breathless

in an earthen mound, no decaying

skeleton but still one hundred percent

human, all flesh and blood here,

hips quaking headstone, 
yes, we are ridiculously human,

pausing to lift head for a gasp

of air, mouthful of lipstick teeth

smearing thighs a reddish-brown,

kicking off heels and legs writhing

to unravel fleece-lined stockings, 
tearing seams with knees beneath

white cotton sheets, and sometimes

her curls catch in my mouth, we laugh

at its silliness, or her earring catches

my hair, two femmes tangling

teach you hair’s perils,
she can unclasp my bra in darkness

from above or below, but I’ve got to flick

on the lamp, turn her around, it’s wildly

unsexy, ponytails tossed across bedroom

as her low voice strikes lightning between

my legs, tectonic plates shifting in veins

as I settle forever in her breasts.