middle night

Waking up alone
I still feel your presence
the heat of your skin
sliding against mine
in memory but real

there is a particular way, that,
when I say, come closer,
you move a little bit at a time
across the bed and then
suddenly you are against me

your leg over mine
it is that slow sidling over
the movement of your body
along the pathway of the sheets
that fills my desire

and then I lie with your head
on your pillow but on my shoulder
and I see the landscape of your neck
all the things about your skin
that you resist calling beautiful

and my heart longs for you
to see yourself as I see you
in that moment, perfect, complete
all the lines of your skin
exactly as they should be

I want to trace each one
deep into you,
and hold your uncertainty
with both hands, like one holds
a baby bird fallen from the nest

when will you rest your heart
completely, o my heart,
in my hands at last?

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