h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

XV

Oh, yes, it's a fierce beginning,
with the noise rising the way it does,
screaming out of both of us
until we sound like banshees in the night,
waking the neighbors,
and the whole house is shuddering,
throbbing with the storm we're making,
and we're sucking air like runaway horses
driven on by lightning and thunder,
unable to stop until utterly exhausted,
but then the calm comes,
and we lie together
unmoving
in the eye of our storm,
serene for a while,
waiting for the tumult
we feel returning.

XVI

Your touch is like a dance,
advancing, then receding,
persistent, light as a breeze,
caressing until endurance is tested,
and I hold you away,
subsiding for a moment,
until you begin the touch again,
and then I lie unmoving
until you open my fountain head
and I whisper, "Empty it. Take it all,"
and we drink it all together.

XVII

When I whisper, "Don't you wish
you had a ruler?" you squeeze me tight
and hold the squeeze,
tight and warm,
then squeeze again,
and whisper, "Your half a one is better,"
and so I ease deeper again,
a single time, slowly,
my pleasure growing
as your arms and legs enwrap me
so that we can measure the whole world
with half a ruler.

XVIII

The room is pink from walls to carpets,
curtains to pillowcases,
and we lie beside each other, facing,
separated by half a foot to avoid touching,
and in the pale light, eyes barely open, squinting,
I see us pink, too, not a rosy afterglow, just pink,
until your hand falls between us,
almost accidental in its touch,
and I feel the hair on your wrist, electric
against the only unhaired smoothness I own,
and when I lean forward to whisper,
"You are a spellcaster,"
you squeeze the smoothness,
until I see the streak of lightning,
orange and yellow and white,
splitting open the pink light,
and you smile.

XIX

This is our pure morning, ours alone,
with light as powerful as Eden's,
so that I touch you as if for the first time,
my lips on your naked flesh circling,
creating a vortex that will suck me
into its dark tunnel where in the distance
you wait for me and beckon me onward,
until I begin the race,
so slowly you can outrun me,
and then in a flash of Eden's white light,
we are coming together.

XX

I've plunged into a warm pool,
thrusting deeper and deeper down into the darkness
where there is neither bottom nor surface,
into a nether world where I remain
suspended between below and above,
between dark and light,
between going and coming,
until I lie there unmoving,
and then I feel you caress me, faintly,
almost imperceptibly at first,
then stronger, with a rhythm born before time,
until I know that you are bringing me home
and I whisper, "Oh, yes, now I'm coming!"

XXI

Lying there wrapped in pink gossamer,
your nails already lacquered and shiny,
you lean forward,
stretch out a finger moistened with a kiss
to raise up my head, and it rises--
not like some ancient Ebenezer erected,
unmoved and unmoving, for a desert refuge,
but like dead Lazarus leaping from his tomb,
weaving and bobbing
as he came out of his wrappings,
weeping upon your finger
pearl drops of Thanksgiving and Alleluia
from a single, squinting duct.

XXII

This morning your lips, soft and moist,
awaken my head before my eyes are open,
and now a lifetime of waiting
for such arousing is finished,
and I know that Pilate's truth question
is irrelevant because you are kissing truth
into yesterday's Volvo bumper sticker,
so that I know in my head that
Bliss Is Waking Up To A Blow Job,
especially on the morning after
we have listened to a pussy purring.

XXIII

It's because of all the good pleasure
you've hoarded, then given me through the night,
a pink magnolia wrapped in gossamer chiffon,
lips so moist they seem touched with falling dew,
nippled breasts, so pointed,
lifting upward to my opening mouth,
arms extending wide, embracing,
and painted nails raking red welts into my shoulders,
and legs opening at last to show that perfumed center
I've been seeking and now am hard to enter--
it is because of all of these,
but more because your smile is saying,
"Come in, come in,"
that I'm coming now,
oh, yes, I'm coming home.

XXIV

I'm telling you, the magnolia wrapped in pink,
that I don't suck your breasts
to gain immortality
or even to extend my life expectancy,
though sucking them may indeed accomplish both,
but because I love their firm softness in my mouth,
the hard nipples growing harder under my tngue,
the look of ecstasy in your smile as I roll my lips
to let you feel my bristly mustache and beard,
the whimper from your throat
as I open my mouth and suck so hard
the milk should be oozing out to sanctify you,
as I am for the moment already sanctified
by the elixir of Amen and Alleluia
that's seeping from a single duct
in my throbbing head.

XXV

I lie with my head upon your thigh,
hearing your heartbeat,
close to your center where I can
see with eyes unclouded,
touch with fingers trembling,
smell with nostrils flaring,
and with only a slight forward motion,
let my tongue find its entry,
then taste, as Adam tasted Eve
for the first time,
so that we both know we have found
our own sure way back to paradise.

XXVI

I've walked around the woodland's edge
to see cherry boughs hung with bloom,
white, like snow, as Housman says,
and I pity him for missing
your full grown fruit,
ripened and flowing nectar
so sweet that I can never have enough,
not even when I plunge my head
into its channeled source again and again,
until in the morning we come together,
moaning and trembling and glowing.

XXVII

My pink magnolia slumbering
upon these ebony satin sheets,
closed eyelids scarcely quivering,
breasts barely moving as you breathe,
with that one arm crooking
to the pillow above your head,
fingers curving over the palm
as if to grasp some unseen treasure,
so that I want to put my exhausted self there,
to let your hand's warmth
spring me into life,
tease me, in pure glory, to glisten,
wet and shiny.

XXVIII

A mind teaser, you give me
your breasts, full uplifted, pointed,
nipples pink in their brown areola,
until I bend to them,
touch my lips to them,
allow my tongue to taste them,
feel them harden as I suck them,
then looking with eyes barely slitted,
I see your hips twist so slightly,
your thighs part so subtly,
your ripe lips open, almost pouting,
pinker than your nipples,
so that I cannot resist
drinking their nectar.

XXIX

I reach into your unknowable interior,
probe hard, driven by instinct,
touch the spot that throbs you alive,
push into the secret place that lies beyond thinking,
build the intensity by thrusting faster and deeper
into your dark mystery until your body
jumps in spasms of moaning and howling,
in paroxysms of surging rapture,
as my warm flood fills you and you overflow
and we collapse in our little death together, gasping.

XXX

This morning we hear a dove whisper
from a maple just outside our window
when the night we have not slept is just ending,
and we listen to the sound
we once knew as cooing
and we hear it fresh now,
and you whisper, "It's saying, 'Cooome,'
can't you hear it?" and I say, "Oh, yes, I hear it,
but I can't, not now, not again this morning"
and then you laugh with your eyes, and kiss me,
and touch me alive again, and we obey
the command of the dove
whispering from the maple.

XXXI

You roll tight against me,
nipples hard, pushing into my chest,
and you throw a leg over my hip,
so that all your mystery is open,
and I can feel it, warm, soft,
overflowing with a flood just left there,
and you use your leg like a hook
to pull me closer, and you say,
"Oh, my God, I love a double dipper!"
and then with a single motion
I'm feeling your rhythmed squeezing,
and we both know that a double dipping
comes early in the night.

XXXII

I hear a song, only one line of a song,
and it sings itself over and over
whenever I think of you,
because what the song is asking,
you have done,
oh, yes,
you have opened
the crystal fountain
and the healing waters there
entice me to plunge in again and again
each time in a new way, coming forever.

XXXIII

The shower is hot and sharp,
as I rub soap on your back,
following the curves
down to your thighs,
before turning you to face me
so that I can soap your breasts,
kiss your nipples in the soap,
your stomach,
then right down to your toes,
and kneeling there,
lean forward into the stinging needles
to kiss deep and taste your mystery,
sweet after the soap,
and then I stand
to let my head find its own way.

XXXIV

Tonight in dreams I'm a warrior,
strong weapon on my thigh,
summoned to battle,
sweating for the fight,
but then I awaken,
reach out, touch,
feel your pointed nipples hardening,
and I am content to wait beside you,
until you come against me hard,
so that I can penetrate your mystery,
deeper than I can reach,
until, screaming like banshees,
we are wet with sweat and coming.