a man is standing on my sweater
the rubber sole of his boat shoes
just brushing the hem of knitted stripes
only moments before,
I lay in my bed
on the white sheets
posed for sleep
and the room was empty
save for the scattered bits of clothing
and shards of private moments
crumbs of food eaten in solitude
but now there is a figure in my doorway
he has been dipped in the midst of all this
and he lightly places his foot
through the threshold
onto me