A summer night, the sky a river
deep with silence
the hours slowing, flowing to larger rhythms.
I stand by a window and moon gaze
the mournful O of it I imagine
glazing a distant window that shadows you.
I see a sliver of moon
light cutting through glass
to pencil your body
a thin luminous curve
over thighs and crumpled sheets,
damp with the sweet odors of sweat and you.
Insomniacs of desire
our feverish tongue-tied pauses
long for the Braille of body-talk
fingers that taste hidden places
bodies slow dancing
to the music of a creaking bed.