we plot under blankets and quilts,
conspiring against chastity,
the despot too long in power.

we plan, we draw maps
over our clothes, tracing
the paths we will take
when the time comes
to claw back our passion.

we practice passing secrets
hidden in our mouths,
and sending messages coded
in the friction of our tongues.

we check each other
for signs of double crossing,
frisking for wires and microphones
in the warm nooks of the arm and the thigh.

we practice, plan and double check
until exhausted and ready,
then we lay watching each other,
waiting for the signal.

a question
a desire
a clumsy fumble
a quick rub
a premier boy scout firestarter
the tinder tender
a deft hand of nimble fingers
elicit a spark
and from a spark a smoulder
and blowing to a flame
and the crackling of fire
and heat and smoke
and we are blazing.

Swallowed fossils lie sleeping
in our recesses and our corners,
old as curling ferns,

From when the sky
was the second sea
the Cambrians swam.

As you move about
our dressing room
they wake and call,

Their unformed music floods me
with the fecund heat
they remember.

The old song
makes me uncurl
on our bed like the fern.