what were you asking for this morning?
I couldn’t hear you over the morning greetings of the sun through my curtains.
something about
cream or sugar?
I laugh;
surely you know:
neither. I say, smiling.
pulling you back into bed while you’re still just wearing your smile.
god, I love that smile.
I can’t, you protest.
you know that… (and oh, do I know)
not letting you finish, I beckon you into my lips again.
make love to me, I taunt,
like a siren to her sailor.

& we like waves
crash into one another,
two opposing forces, so alike,
yet one warm,
one cool,
both seeking the shoreline.
& as our tide rolls in,
we separate & postpone our evening ides.

you smell like the summers of my youth, you say to me,
your eyelashes drunk & heavy.
as you circle the lines of my body no one else has gleaned,
I think,
you are my magnum opus,
my finished masterpiece,
my last supper.
I dig my hands into your hips for one last treasure,
& slipping away,
I leave you on the shore.

in the next room, I construct my bottled ship—
carefully built, a mast, a sail.
I have known what it takes to do such things
after sinking so many of my own before,
come back to me, you say.
I need you.
& I stop in disbelief.
all of my crafting,
every last scavenge,
was a voyage to these words.

I scurry for a scepter in your cabinets & drawers,
& finding such a thing (or something like it)
I carve into flesh:
once
twice
thrice
X
marks the spot.

the scent of you still hums on my skin,
mingling with rivers & roads of scarlet & sadness.
I slump into your washbasin, sinking into my spiral.
you are
the best thing…
pauses…
coffee, babe? you ask.
I think.
just let me soak for a while…

the sun sets.
the waves calm.
& the cool tide
bursts into flames.