we are a poem in the rough –
your sandpaper jaw beneath my lips
and in this new utopia,
hand in hand is prayer.
toes curl against calves
and hands behind heads;
the sheets twist beneath us
and I can’t see for your eyes.
and when the rug trembles
beneath my feet, I know
you’re right when you say
I won’t sleep tonight.
lips on lips, the first shedded skin
of innocence coiled in your hands;
my mind, cold and dark as winter seas
without your breath across my throat.
