Where Out Love Is In

my hand on your hip like a golden fleece 
humming jurisdiction and swaying 
to the rhythm of your gate
too proud to wallflower.
my palm-
where the heat of you
commands my grasp, 
and nothing is 
so keen
as the thought of our 
next encounter
with a private 
moment
unmoored from harbingers 
of impending 
isolation.
stuck to the forefront
of an absolute 
ravishing.

whirling the dervish plums 
of our plucky
resurrections
to stammer free of our bonds
into happier 
bondage.

thoroughly 
in love
where out love
is In.

and no wonder.