When we loved

I remember in particular your orgasm,
that one I found when I lived with my head in that pretty house between your legs,
with the magnificent long view over the one point perspective up your thighs, so near where your hips were raised up high pointed peaked like waves at the edge of your belly, receding to the distance of  your hand on breast, not clutching but confirming, and the soft of your face, as I relive it, shining large and crisply out of reach as moonset, and the sound of you especially I recall, oh try to recall, can never enough recall: cascading "ohs" not screamed but declared "oh, oh," with plaintive surprise. 
And the moment remembered again, from above, from orbit with you as the whole curving earth,
and the same, again, unfinite, rosary moments, "oh", from beside you: face galaxy large against my own, body twinning mine, two stars. and looping mantra moment, "oh", a mudra of that memory, "oh" bead by bead of "oh" so that it was all times, in all beds, all hours, our years of extending my hand toward your rising setting face as "oh" the pull away and twitch and still, still, even now, there was nothing before it, or after, but my small fingers reaching out to catch the moon.