I feel a pull in my chest;
an ache and a flutter
behind my sternum as if
the bird of my heart is straining
against the prison of my ribs
to be near you.
I don't blame it.
I crave you, too.

I cannot sleep with someone
holding me- I feel
trapped
within a lover's embrace
unable to move, twist and toss in my own rhythms.

Hold my hand, fine;
touch my back gently, but please
don't take my freedom in my sleep.  

I cannot sleep with
someone holding me

Why, then, do I crave your touch?
Why do I sink into deep,
still pools of sleep
with such ease
in the shelter of your arms?

And why do I feel its absence when
you're gone?

You kiss
my hand; each fingertip, one by one
slowly, softly
with such deliberate tenderness
that makes my chest
ache
with a feeling I cannot name
that feels a little bit like soaring,
and a little bit like falling,
and a little bit like
coming home.

Our lips are matches
that, struck against each other,
blaze up
brighter than the lights of your city;
brighter than the desert sun, and
I don't want the fire to go out.
So press your lips against mine again.
Strike the match
Let's see how brightly we burn.

The wind plays with my hair like a lover. 
I'm left disheveled and laughing.  
I'm drunk on sunlight and that particular shade of blue
of skies that have secrets, and they're not telling.