it may have been somewhere in the look, clear
and just quickening the breath, deep
like the billowing of the hurricane’s winds, hot
like the dance of a first lust, damp
with the cling of that thin film of sweat
it may have been somewhere in the tone, light
and just dampening the ear, thin
like a solitary thread of the spider’s web, cool
like the song of a first kiss, moist
with the cling of that thin film of saliva
it may have been somewhere in the embrace, firm
and just tensing the muscles of the thigh, thick
like the fibres of the sun-seasoned hawser’s strands, warm
like after the poem of a first tryst, wet
with the cling of that thin film of semen
it may have been somewhere in the scent, redolent