You will be the reason he slides out of bed
Shuddering at the hope of perhaps slipping past
Only a slash of your shoulder
In a too tight hallway
The gravity of your small body
Smoldering between his love and the linoleum wall
A whispered payer, rehearsed confessions
Aroused once more
By simply the scent of your strange hair
That reminds him hopelessly of sea foam and silk kimonos
A sigh wrestles silently in his stomach
Which seems to have soared
A substantial space higher than he usually remembers
A thousand butterflies
The color of your eyes
(like milk or mystery novels or magic tricks)
Rousing themselves from delicate dreams
To drum the thin air
With crepe paper wings
Making music like the sound
Of you laughing or weeping out loud
And waltzing suggestively
Sexy and slow, antenna to antenna
Hot sorrow streams down upon him
As the small of your back
Swings past the eggshells of his heart
In perfect cadence with your thrilling step
He sees you ambling down the hallway
Not as a woman
But as the woman
A swan neck in moonlight
Shedding feathers and tears and pearls
With the fingertips motionless in his pocket
He strums your infinite grief and beauty
Loving you in the way one loves oxygen or salt water:
Necessarily
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