(This is a revised repost about when
our natural carnality takes over both
parties during the act of love and  it
all gets a bit combative...also about
the way (hopefully) it usually finishes.)

  

The time
Was opportune.
My members all had mutinied,
Gone traitorous,
Withdrawn
Their acquiescence to the will,
And the will stood,
A lonely sentinel,
Afraid.

 

Behind my eyes
The minds limbs had grown gaunt,
Gnarled,
Defoliated.
And through all
The Simmoom of a desicating want
Ceaselessly parched.

 

You
Were a cry to combat.
Eyes shafting javelins,
Shoulder
Sabre-slashing,
In your voice
A provocation of muttering ire.

 

We
Being flint to tinder,
Sparked into conflagration,
Rallied
To a rouse of bugles along our blood,
Attained
A sudden unanimity of intention
And attacked.

 

The conflict
Was un-concluded,
For although
I claimed the spoils of victory,
Your eyes reminded me
That I remained
An un-admitted alien.

 

And so we lay
In the final hour of the dark
Each one from the other
Isolated,
While ourselves, 
Warily in the trucial space between
Made parley.

 

Until,
Tiiring of pretence,
We slipped
With one sad utterance
 the masks.
(And our eyes broke
And spilled their pity on our breasts.)

 

Losing
All inclination for the fray,
We stood our forces down,
Disbanded them,
And, coming close,
Surrendered
(Through your sleep
You smiled a weary smile of victory)

 

And then the grave young Day
Crept in
And stood beside us,
And the courteous Dawn-wind
Hushed his breath a little,
As the birds -
For fear of awakening us -
Slept on.
And the sun rose…on a morning full of peace.