~ Became a rhythm ~

Each thought taken slowly, alone, undiluted

by other flavors of

the malevolent goodness in at last

giving in to the landscape your eyes

surrendered to years ago. His body

opens around your hands, warm

layers of fleece, plaid

shirt, jacket you curl up

in the room he built before either

of you were young. In the darkness there

it is possible to light candles, to watch

the digital red passing of time across

his skin unlike anyone else’s specifically

his own to yours as you give yourself

to him, all he will take and anything

left over sleeps at the foot of the bed

until morning colors lemons back

into the lemon tree, polished green leaves,

fills in the window’s night

blank line – one sentence ending

begins another conversation – your

feet crunching dewy gravel, his hands

still ghosting around your throat, kissed thin.