"You as Destination."
I inventory services.
Your ass in position, shudder thrust or circle.
Peace you are at before or after to bring me to.
Whereas formally, I lay on my back a wide eyed child
and the ceiling a relentless press.
I thought as a child it would kiss me, would crush me.
It was not unlike a spider.
Flexing its four spread knees where walls met
and I played a happier game too.
Spreading by lash or fingers, the light
into star columns, endless energy, and sky.
I couldn't know how many light years your message might take,
or if you had one, playing my kids' games,
kidding the scary dark, which meant adult lives,
meant life, drawing down a ceiling full of fear,
hairy times, horny times, and still you there.