Not to be confused with a Freudian slip

Photograph: Giuseppe Bartoli.

My hand on your hip
mimics the firmament
by holding your celestial body–
firmly, yet finely–
against the mattress of nightfall,
where all touch aims to emulate
the erect index finger of God
in order to give the gift of life.

There’s something heavenly
about watching you sleep
like an infant. The newly-born notion
of bringing life into this world
creeps and crawls across my mind,
as I conclude, love is about being firm
yet gentle. That’s when my sweaty palm
gives way, gliding onto your belly,
and all I could really think about
was borrowing God’s index finger.