I’m not sure which I prefer:
falling asleep next to
you,
or waking to the smell of coconut and vanilla,
your ear still pressed to my breast,
stray hairs and a fingertip tickling my
solar plexus as you stir,
convincing me, as you always must,
that last night’s visions were dreams
and not nightmares.

It’s always the same:
like careless parents, we lie atop those two twins
pushed together in the corner of your highrise
searching for things in each others faces
we may have missed. Or perhaps
comforting ourselves in finding what we knew we would.
You tell me my eyes are beautiful–
“that’s because they are mirrors, love”
I tell you your lips have control over my entire being–
“that’s because they have tasted you;
and things that have tasted power do not easily give it up”
We laugh at how old we sound, and I
pull you closer to kiss you above your brow.
You ask for another there, but instead I plant one
where your influence lies

And I wake…
to the smell of coconut and vanilla;
soft pressure on my chest–
a dream.

The morning the aroma of that tropical fruit refuses to greet me
it will have been a nightmare