You came without footsteps.
I did not hear the door
only felt you
arrive
beneath my ribs,
like smoke curling into a sealed jar.
I was praying,
but you were the breath I used to say your name.
Now I live
in a room without walls.
No ceiling, no floor
only your nearness,
pressing me open
from within.
I am not asking for paradise.
I am asking
for the warmth of your palm
on the small of my back
when I am weary of seeking.
I am asking
to lean into you
as a tree leans into wind it trusts.
Let the world do what it wants
let time collapse,
let stars fall into rivers
but let me keep
the wine of your presence
on my tongue
a moment longer.
There are days I am nothing but hunger.
Days I mistake your silence
for absence.
But then a bird lands on the windowsill
and it is you.
Then my spine tingles
for no reason
and it is you.
And when I weep without knowing why,
it is because you are
too close to name.
You are the touch I can’t return.
The kiss I give inward.
The home I carry
in the hollows of my being.