138/365 : chill the fuck out

jodi told me to write a poem
about how he unwinds my mind
with his fucking
late at night
after we're both spent on speaking
and we're both ready for dreaming
but i, in my quick-aired thinking
cannot slow the wind
i, i need rain
heaping hailing
drenching tsunamis of his body
breaking into mine
in order to finally find
the still breath
the ancient yes
the blue tenderness
of quiet
that's always waiting
like a backdrop prayer
like the monks in their soul lairs
like the devotion
of nothingness
and love
and pigeons in the downtown city square
always around somewhere
pecking, waiting, wondering
when we'll chill the fuck out
and feed them