Taut hands extend slowly
finding you smooth, slightly oiled, and receptive
We conform softly,
sharing shapes
spread together
I am a sensuous force
the response is beautifully, thinly, outward
My direction fades
and the dance ends quickly
You are overpowering me.
We disintegrate in the heat
no longer a contrast
In no time, I succumb to frustration
my patience mixed in granules coating my fingers
now dry and crumbly, raw and yet burnt
I howl in my furious belligerence: Again!
My wife chides me for this:
I try pasta or pastry or pie
and am perpetually bested
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