sleepless, each curve
takes me to alert, to keen
your hip in the cup of my hand,
ribs to my forearm hair,
the nape to not nip
and wake you, the shift
of your mounded rear into
the hollow of my thigh-spoon.
sleep has fled further
than these partly overcast skies.
the moonlight wraps you close
as I would like, close as permission
closer than the sheets you shift off
in the heat of your turns to find
a cool place on your cotton and your face
is shadow softness and
innocence and mine
is a kind of hunger.
Published in the forthcoming Thirsts, Snare Books, 2011