New Lovers At Saturday's Soup Kitchen

They are new lovers
swept into that strange intensity
of sudden pleasure's fumbling delight,
where eagerness and want make mind reject
all proprieties of limit
and urgency demands both touch
and captivation.

She is willow-slender, thin of face,
not beautiful yet feminine,
filled with pale grace
born of strength of purpose
spoken in the tumbling of squealing children
giggling their play about her feet;
only one is her's, the others fostered,
but close now to adoption,
seven faces light and dark together
laughing in the simple joy
and certain knowledge of her care.

He is younger, muscular and taller, round face
fringed with beard, depth of calm and
quiet self-realization belying youth,
his only child blond and older
already part of her and hers,
and he smiles deep and cherished
at the warmth of his new family,
contentment urging up
the corners of his mouth.

And I watch them in the church, in pause
between plates of food we give
to those in need,
and in the midst of quiet sanctuary,
strangers' gratitude and children playing tag
she stands before him, legs apart,
her body reaching for his gaze,
one hand upon his chest,
the other lingering, delicate
upon his cheek as he bows down,
shoulders coming off the wall behind,
hands large upon her hips,
eyes lingering on her breasts,
drinking of her body,
looking up and into her's;

they smile,

and they forget,

and so do I.