When Reality Barges In

I grab a cupful of buttock,
one only, though I wish I could grab both,
I squeeze hard disregarding the whimpering
knowing it is for the tear in your stocking
and the crease in your freshly ironed dress
you whimper.
If to judge by your palm
cupping a sizable portion of my buttocks
inside belt and trousers and underwear.
You were always one step ahead of me.
And most of the time underneath me.
Not now, as we discuss the ecology of noise
and the curse of global warming
and the American election results
as our fingers play their disrespect to the haughty ideas of our mouths
yet not of our minds, half way in the gutter already.

You force your ideas upon me,
the political and the religious siding with the curls of hair
there where I would have expected to find them
yet not alongside the political and the religious
and certainly not with metaphors hiding the crude reality
and its barbarous, heavenly stinking, beauty.
You pull me into you
before I stumble in the piling trousers decorating my ankles
and I fall underneath you, damn,
the back of my head thudding dryly on the tiles
so unlike anything Bogie ever did to Ingrid
or Fred to Ginger or Mickey to Minnie,
at least what they showed us when in reality
they were so far from dancing
and so deep in hammering the floor
the way we did.

I don’t mind
your groping fistfuls of fat forgotten around my belly
as long as you don’t mind
my groping fistfuls of breast grown on your chest
and competing with my hair
not in quantity but in quality.
No doubt, you are better built,
though you would claim the other way around
if to judge from the way your eyes insist on seeing me,
every bit of me and none in the least disgusting
and all of it tasty to your smacking lips
and that vacuum building inside that dark grotto
defined by your palate and tongue and tonsils
sucking in everything of me not attached with firm ligaments
to my bones.
It sounds incongruous, almost indecently so
when we finally disentangle and your mouth tastes of love
as you whisper... I love you.
It has nothing to do with the airplane
just cutting the full moon in two with a horrible noise,
sounding no more than a whisper
when I remember
that shared howling just seconds ago.