TAKING AND GIVING.

Sonya says
the Dostoevsky book
Im reading
is a depressing read.
Read something
more joyful,
she says,
something less dark.
She's laying on the bed
in the Parisian hotel;
her blonde hair spread
on the pillow;
her hands holding
a book;
her legs crossed
at the ankles.
I look at her book cover:
Either/ Or.
What's that book?
Philosophy book;
by Kierkegaard.
Is that any more cheerful?
Depends on what
you mean
by cheerful;
it's not
a bundle of laughs.
She closes the book
and place sit
on the small table
by the bed.
Come lay here;
forget the book.

I put my book
on the dressing-table
by the window
and lay on the bed.
She uncrosses her legs
and turns to face me.
You need to lighten up;
life is too short
to spend time brooding
on the dark elements.
I look into
her icy blue eyes;
there's a new world there.
Kiss me;
hold me.
I kiss her
and hold her close;
I sense her breathing
on my cheek;
her breasts nudging
my chest;
her hands running
along my spine.
How are you feeling?
Fine,
I say,
feeling along
her thighs,
moving her skirt
as I go.
What do you feel?
Excitement and warm.
This is life;
this is living;
taking hold of the now

and holding on to it.

I sense my pecker stir;
my eyes widen;
I see her lips
readying
to kiss again.
She kisses;
no more words;
no more lectures
on life or living;
just a time
of taking
and giving.