he is brazen electricity along your veins and
a sputtering drumline in your mind,
he is tongue and teeth, skin and bone
with his lovely notes scrawled on restaurant napkins and
that half-smile on his lips which makes your knees shake;
and he is perfect, he is lovers’ breath, entrapped
and when your hands are cold, your sheets tangled,
smeared makeup beneath the dark circles of your eyes,
you can nearly taste his words on your tongue