Ruining the Afterglow

Always fumbling as if for the taste
of smoke and mint,
the thinling suspended between my fingertips
and the flick of my thumb to conjure up the flame;

Always craving the refresh
of ice and water, cooling in a condensing glass;

Always seeking my socks, or
checking to make sure I've set
the alarm clock;

Always quick to flip my pillow to the cold side
and to chase down the cat who keeps my sleeping feet warm;

Hesitant to let the lightness of your fingers
dance and graze across my goosebumped sides,
or to let our ringed hands interlace
as if to mimic the rest of our bodies;

Shy and receding from your pulse in my ear,
from my cheek on your chest,
from the blanket you draw across
my cold shoulders.

Only fear or pride or forgetfulness:
the usual clumsiness and speedy impatience toward sleep;

So often
Ruining your need to take care of me,
my need for you to take care of me.

No comments:

Post a Comment