My love, I know that in
the dead of the dark you
are looking for an answer
to a question you do not
know, and though it's etched
on your chest and under your
fingernails and behind your eyelids,
you can't keep still long enough
to see just what it says.
You look at me, and see nothing
but burgundy on white and you say
that there's no more to me than this,
you can do nothing but kiss my eyes
closed until I'm no longer present.
Our descent begins quietly, with whispers
and hushed voices and the street noises
that rush into the room as soon
as they're permitted; they fit well with the
jostling of limbs and the tossing and turning
of our bodies in the sheets defeating any purpose
of keeping our mouths shut.
My mind is made up, but I'm in no position
for giving up or forgetting what is at stake,
for the sake of myself, I hold my breath
and my tongue until the world becomes just
the sum of each action and my body is numb.