We don’t have to be lonely
now.
We play serious
like children.

We swap places,
we shift, wriggle,
and speak vaguely,
for we are hard to know.

We barely listen
but always understand
about the warmth
in a mouth,
about sand
in the teeth.

We eschew tight shoes,
applaud
the street, the sky
and striding between them.

We are giving up our
tactics soon
and hang our clothes
like flags.

We are so sexual we can hardly speak.
More nude than other animals
we aim straight for truth.

We will find it,
with fingers we’ll
read all our
easy secrets,

our tongues will
taste every idea
that comes.

We will hear the view
precisely:

the crunch
the squeak
of things to come.