Afternoon

What Can I Tell My Bones, Theodore Roethke

My love is a wound.

....................................................................................


Tuesday


She is a part of me now, a part I'd thought
was lost. I cherish her in the moon's glow,
nude and vulnerable to my alarming desires.
Slow as a lazy sailboat, I bind her gently but
firmly, in the intricate fashion learned in
Japan. Her sudden inhale of breath and soft
moaning compromise my equilibrium.
I hope to never finish, for in my mind each
piece of rope is an extension of myself.


the softest lash
draws her further into me
my breath halts

Maria