(no subject)

Ten Months

The night is dead dark and all
around us, heavy as the flannel sheets
I never want and you always do, worn soft
by the sharp points of hips and knees, and which you
have wrapped cocooning around us both. I love
you, and the way you cling when cold, hands
slipping up my shirt to rest one just
above the dip of lower back, the other
lying flush between my scapula, where
my wings would be if we were angels. Our knees
lock together and I can feel the soft rush
of breath as you relax. The dark
is the same with eyes open or eyes
shut, but I know each shift and easing
of your long lean body, the smooth way
your ribs rise and fall, and I
can hear your heart
pound.