Friday Night Chasms

Friday night chasms,

between two bodies prone on the sheet

in the dark of a blackout,

or a thousands tiny lights

in your room.

The long curve of your back:

I can't forget

the horizon of your shoulder to your hip.

A line,

it made me need you

in the next day and weeks that followed.

Words would send me crazy

but that slope of your shoulder

brought me back

home, your body, your

bed, your

nesting cave of wonders,

blinding lights,

magpie's generosity.

It's still your voice that reaches me,

your sigh

of greeting, as if every

meeting face to face is for the first time.

Your eyes, marrons glacees.

Your voice

breathing embraces

for my ears alone,

and every other one

you meet.

The same

serene tenderness for strangers,

and the beautiful angry cook,

and me.