Love Lessons
Homage to Pauletta Hansel

We should have sex more often, I say, so we waltz to the
bedroom. Surrounded by candlelit walls that flicker and wave,
we touch. Our ease shows we are changing,

That we’ve not lost a rhythm that rocks back and forth like
pent-up waves rising and breaking on the shore.
Our past is a prelude to the present.

We are the Atlantic and Pacific, in conjunction tonight,
the lambent light of the moon affecting the tide,
our ebb and flow, this rise and fall. This fierce roll of ocean

Leaves us on the beach, winded and sated, our body prints
in the sand among shells and starfish, seaweed draped
around our legs, still pretzeled together.

Sheltered by craggy rocks, you rub your stiff shoulder,
and I smooth the cramp in my calf, errant body parts they are.
We lie together, toes in the foaming water, rolling in, receding.

I’m guessing we’re not the most wrinkled on this stretch, I say.
Probably not, my husband says. Still pulsing under an ancient moon
we stretch into the smooth night, a safe harbor.

Whispers of breath become the sussurus of the sea.
The poles shift back into position and the rocking of the earth gentles us
Into that easy place of old, familiar love where we rest.