Labor Pains

Love,
I love

the eyes,

they do the work

but try not to give it all away

before we start getting reckless with our sin,

and joking and laughing

about how we could possibly laugh about it;

Only to push some more of those boundaries

That we forgot to define, to begin with;

And as fingertips accidently flicker

while walking into our own little world

with modest lighting

and familiar music,

we take the opportunity to

tickle each-other’s knees

like quick Eskimo-kisses;

Just to signal or as if to ask

Don’t you feel 14?

‘cause I do.

As we turn away,

I wish,

for one last time,

those eyes could work overtime.