rubbing innuendos

I lift against his skin; he lifts me up. 

And I rub his skin like rubbing the air for food. 

Again he lifts me up, skin to the curve 

Of skin. In dreams, touching is not enough. 

And he rubs me on his skin, rubs me under— 

"Wake up," he says. Then I—; then he—; but 

Do I know what I want? His hands under 

My arms, lifting me up? I want—what? 

 

Another dream of his hush upon 

Mine; mine, his? And wake, and what is gone: 

Mouths kissing husks of hush. And dreams 

Of holy hands, rubbing innuendos 

Of my body in his day. Are words dreams 

Of one refrain: I am alone. Where are you? 

 

[Judith Hall {1951- } "IV" from 'Fragments of an Eve' in To Put the Mouth To]