Nameless Moment

Between your sheet and your soul,
We shared a cup of tea for two,
Or more,
Depending on your point of view.
In mine at least,
We are a pair of infinities,
Pulsing up against a wall,
Growing and grinding,
Fucking,
Breaking down and out,
Simply fucking,
Dreaming countless dreams of how the world
Should be:
Made of silk velvet and black lace
Or khaki and canvas.
Either version's better
Than shit and hand grenades
Or pitchforks and blood.
Well, blood's OK,
Especially when it's young, hot, and
Boiling,
Like yours and mine
In that nameless moment:
Ours
But still the world is made of shit and hand grenades,
Instead of velvet hand cuffs and cock rings,
But we'll make do
Just like we made do with tea cups, stories,
And a lumpy cot,
And the world will still be made
Of pitchforks and blood,
But everything will be OK
As long as that blood
Is young, hot, and
Boiling,
Like yours and mine
In that nameless moment:
Ours