The action in the lines of just

Everything is a math of
Rough sex
And Hawaiian guitar,
Delco radios and midnight
After driving
In the leather Mercedes
Open to through curves.
Good things when they are at their best.

And Nurses: tonight no more needles – just –

The television crawls between the patterns
Of films. A steady flickerings
Of Oscar winning roles
For difficult women (on screen and
Off goes the joke).
We spend all of hey laughing.

Your fingertips on my wrist – just –

There is not a cave with enough
Deep. Even hiding in the cave
You are found
As the voices make echoes.
The lights shine in after you.

Put your lips over my chilly mouth – just –

I have a confession.
The summers did not happen
As I remember them.
Instead... I did not fly.
I did not wear laurels.
I did not advise
A future that would actually come.

Run the fingers of your fingers
Over my chestbone – just –

That I think if anyone, you.
There is a math to be created.
Visualize the entrance of numbers,
And convert them to dancers,
On point,
In a train hallway.

Press me in an urgent way – just –

More than slumbering occurs
While I am neither
Wrapped in Irish arms,
Or in a cradle of Irish earth.

The Hawaiian guitars
Assemble their pitches, and
Mourn on stoney peaks.