It’s the song she sings in his ear as he strokes her tender bristles, licks. It’s the song she sings in his ear as he strokes her tender bristles, licks the nipple that grows taut & dark under his kiss. & as he reaches into her to find that elusive spot she gasps as if to say Yes, you’ve found your way & his touch heats & her breath stiffens & his fingers & her lips & soon the stroke is urgent & her body reaches up to meet him & opens for him & she chants in tongues that reach back to the beginning, to the first man & the first woman, when it was new & sometime, even now, new again . . . . .