After work there are dishes in the sink
crumpled white linen napkins and green
handmade (of course) ceramic mugs on the table
I bring to mind an image of you
sitting across, in last night’s light
joy threatening to overwhelm me
has as much to do with mugs
and dishes and the rest of everyday
as it does with any big decision
refusing to be dead any more
refusing to not pay attention to
the texture of the mug
the way the half and half leaves
traces on the inside surface
refusing to accept distance
refusing to be shamed
for my desire for life
for liking to glitter
for my desire, period;
I pole-vault into everything new
the sunshine reflecting off
bits of wax from the candles
another lover gave me
that I lit last night while we ate
your change of clothes
still in my closet
Slut of the Cloth 
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