Leg here, wrists there, can anybody see?
the mechanics of making love
on a cliff:
the rock at my back, the valley below me
and him in the front. Where to put my knee
is a matter that’s somewhat tough,
legs here, wrists there; can anybody see
the way we entwine like vines round a tree.
His hands hold me firm round my midriff,
the rock at my back, the valley below me.
The wind blows on my bare bottom and he
has to rearrange – we’re getting some stiff
legs here, wrists there. Anybody can see,
if they walk up to the ledge, us awkwardly
clinging to each other, grinding against the rough,
the rock at my back. The valley below me
is dotted with small houses, makes me dizzy
and we whisper quietly to each other, “if
legs here, wrists there, can anybody see
the rock at my back & the valley below me?”