She turns our vinyl to its B-side
erases all her words
so that only whispers cut into me
and the residual luxury of her skin melts into mine
in the maple memory of our sunlit night.
still my soul billows in the wind
like fresh sails on a familiar sea, made foreign
and haunting like ash in my burning mouth;
her cinnamon fingers and amber eyes seize my ribs
crushing me with grace, and the other soft movements
this is my heart’s storyline and beat—
my soul’s repose for which
I’d searched forlornly
all life long.