Ache of Naked Bodies
Anne Walsh Donnelly
Yours and mine
in the tallboy mirror.
Soaped skin,
pliable as dough,
rises, coils.
We braid our bodies.
Perfume,
yours and mine
embrace, seeps
into our pores.
Summer sighs escape
from every orifice.
We lick fingertips,
dipped,
in salmon flesh
knowing they feed
our rare fusions.
26
Cauldron Anthology