That after sex your thoughts might turn to something else. The softness of the rain. The energy of six year-olds. Fears. Insects' limbs. The remarkable tension and comfort of our friendships: so-and-so's way of laughing, someone's small courage. Kinds of grapes and a dog's eagerness.

Not to leave the moment, rushing onward, but to lie on it, without sinking down and away from all the other things.

Remark this way—outward—and we'll be bonded together from then.