When I wake up earlier than you and you
are turned to face me, face
on the pillow and hair spread around,
I take a chance and stare at you,
amazed in love and afraid
that you might open your eyes and have
the daylights scared out of you.
But maybe with the daylights gone
you’d see how much my chest and head
implode for you, their voices trapped
inside like unborn children fearing
they will never see the light of day.
The opening in the wall now dimly glows
its rainy blue and gray. I tie my shoes
and go downstairs to put the coffee on.
The first and last time I saw you you were sitting underneath a streetlight in a cargo jacket with a hat over your eyes, reading a book about geology with your legs folded criss-cross-apple-sauce in front of you, and when you started to smile into the page all I wanted to do was make love to…