I.
Early on while making love to Ona as I would thrust hard and deep and feel the soaring heat of her and feel the wet depth of her and know that nowhere else, ever, was I going to feel so good. I would say, a guttural moan, “Goddamn it” because it felt so fine. And Ona would sigh back, “God bless it.” And now, before I cum and after, and sitting around reading, pausing to notice her hips, breasts, not her breasts, equally, or in the middle of making love, or in the middle of fucking, or any other time I say, “God bless it” too, having learned just one of the lessons, that she has taught me.
II.
And one night after Love Boat on the decrepit pink couch, The lake lapping the shore outside and the night getting on, Ona came out In a torn and ragged green print dressing gown That was slit at the chest all the way to the belly. She had bought it at Goodwill. And there, the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table, the T.V. off for the night, the dogs all asleep, after we had kissed a little, and felt an awful lot like it, Ona hiked the grown up, straddling me, and turned it into spun gold, sliding herself down around and onto me. My hands caressed her breasts and what moved across my mind, in route nowhere, was the certainty that this moment was the best America can offer, there’s none better, and it’s enough.
