from this morning

We're at a party, sitting crowded
at the edge of someone's bed
watching a TV.
We sit as usual: arms casually, warmly brushing,
until the first thing ends.
You flip for something else until
you find a *Seinfeld
featuring Bugs Bunny and company.
Live action Jewish hair mixes with
cartoon-flat bunny fluff tails
like a blue-toned cousin of
Who Framed Roger Rabbit.
You stop the search, sensing
correctly that this is also my choice.
We stand and you press close
behind me, peering over my shoulder.
I should be surprised but am only elated.
You breathe purposely
on the back of my neck.
It's the goose-bump breath of a heater
on bare wet skin after a winter bath.
Like a well-timed puff on a
nest of reedy tinder,
the freshly struck fleeting flint
grows at the center.
The expedition is saved for one more night!
A sparkler sends
the hottest shower down,
Warm glowing Goldschläger flakes
cascade in whorls,
the turbulence encountering no resistance
save for the tightness of my capillaries
burning pleasantly at skin's end.
I look around at our friends and
recognize distantly that this is becoming
too obvious.
You hook your arm around my waist
and Gabriel gives us an affably
shocked smile that seems to
ask a question.
But the admonition comes through a
wall of drowsy fascination,
too muffled to take effect.
I feel myself smile bashfully
as if to say *Hey, whadamituhdo?