there is a softness in the willows aching with
your steps- aching to follow the curve of
your spine to the sharp edges of your
hips, aching to chase the scent that
lingers and trails behind you-
that until three days ago i
did not understand.
there is something
about that slight rise
to your lips as you lean
down over me even after i'm
sure i cannot stand anymore heat
heat heat but i'll take more as long as
you are willing to give it, as long as it means
i do not have to lose the sound of you in all
your actions and late night phone calls.