Poem #7/30: Snuggling is the New Sex

I am tired of the place where soul meets body where my bones mean anything other than my bones. Why not a body, just a body with no consequence? No thoughts to over/under think no mouth to say too much. Why not a body with no want other than to feel the same of another - two fleshy forms coiled for warmth? 

Cats seem to have it figured out. My sense is that they don't even like each other all the time yet are willing to capitalize on a mutual benefit. This is practicality more than feline love or affection. Notice they make no eye contact - back to back, their half lids, gazing elsewhere; merely basking in the comfort of the immediate other. Notice the patch of sun shared readily by two who understand the logical advantage - warm outside / warm inside-out - of sharing bodies, the comfort. 

Listen, we don't have to talk or even look at one another - like the cats, if you want. And no, sex would overheat then cool us to alone again; and who needs that when coiling up with one another is just enough? Why not just body - blood flowing heart machine warmth making whole shebang of body. No question of worth or power or other stupid constructs to complicate (so human). I'm not asking that we make love. I'm not sure I even know how anymore. Love lives in my past tense. I'm not asking for sex at all, not even a quick fuck. I'm asking, possibly, that we link arms and legs and interlock our supine forms as worship and simply bask in that glory - being bodies, using them as they were meant to be: warm, safe, most softly. Isn't this what we're after, anyway?