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you steal through my window like a specter
and still i do not stir, as if in sleep
i know you. my body knows you, waking in
sun-shadow blinks to watch the gentle dance of
clothes over skin, slipping to the floor, unneeded.

in the dark, you are darker still, tips of cool fingers
seeking purchase for your climb into my
arms, soft and warm for only you to melt into.
my mouth has long gone lonely, cotton dry, but
you kiss me still, and spin yarn slow with tongue
and touch
and sigh.

what we weave together may be a wild thing. i
do not yet know the pattern – but i trust in our rude
clumsy creation more than most perfect constructions
by hands that do not slide over my skin as yours do.

alchemy of skin, scent and breath, breath and scent –
that taste of you i know better with my eyes closed, in
supplication, savoring what we make together. favored by
a mischievous divinity, one that might fade to mist should i
dare to look with too much longing.

you sneak under the covers – where you linger, even when absent –
and, meticulous, you lay down broken tile after tile, sparing no time
to test the fit. instead, you trust in your work,
your throaty laughter worked in like the paste tenderly
massaged between crevices of cracked pottery, smeared
over my belly and licked clean by moonlight.

that window has been broken for
months, days, years, a lifetime.
light peeks through, yes, but the shadow of
love so familiar that she crawls through quiet, and leaves
her shoes at the door, and giggles into my lips
to share exuberance heart to mouth, chest to chest,
thigh between thigh – that shade is
what reveals.

when i laugh with you i love you.
i do not provoke it, because it simply
is

bubble burst snort cough crow
i swoon close, clutch your shoulder while
my belly aches with it, twisting up the place
where your own laughter echoes inside

skin-prickle spiders over me when
i hear it from nothing, that everyday secret,
mirth so massive it spills from the confines of your chest
waterfall wide and sea-face shimmering

of course i miss that daily discovering.
being discovered in return by the crinkle in
the corner of your eyes, an open-mouthed squawk
of joy, realization.

it could never be demystified, unwondered,
even now that i study it without distraction.

the color of it stains – but i still hunger
to mash my fingers in it, berry wine crush
between skin and skin. to make a paint
of it in clenched divots. jelly, mermelada,
dulce sin azúcar, endulzada con caña de una costa norteña,
cubierta en nácar,

deslumbrame. one more time that i know
to remember, silly and sweet.
sunset pinks cheeks, a palm hovered over
to bask in their heat. i wish to take that same
palm back to my own face and
feel it one more time.

when i loved you i laughed more.
(it felt that way.)
choke chuckle sigh wheeze warble
is it true? does it matter?
there was no measuring, no need to
map the limits of a resource so fingertip friendly.

would that i had, to name and know what
it was – shake shiver giggle groan bite
– that i found.