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