Light careens through the gossamer
canopy above my bed. Billowing smoke
curls to meet the light, fresh from my lover’s
mouth. Slow-rolling heartbeat,
thick on my brow, in my neck, reminding
me of how temporary this could be. My eyes
shut. Inside darkness the world shifts,
even the red of my eyelids threatens
to swallow me whole. Can this be real?
Light shines down onto the hairs of my arm,
and warm hands brush against them. Eyes open
again, I trace the shape of her lips. I read this
somewhere when I was in high school. In a back
corner of a library. Scouring pages for someone
who looked like me. Shame, my own private God,
cooling the sweat of my shaking hands. She moves,
and her hair spills out against my pillow.
Her pillow. I reach out to touch it.
Light eyes, so much like a forest midday,
look at me like they have known me all
of their lives. I’ve walked through those
woods a thousand times, but some days
the shadows grow long and I’m alone
again. I know how to make myself smaller
and how to disappear into another self. Still,
this sunburn of intimacy, grace melting against
my skin, makes me feel that for the first time
I won’t be asked to unmake myself.