winter loving.

you held me once, a great while ago,
in the cold light of the rain outside your window.
the trees grew thick and young about your house

but their thin branches could not stand under
the weight of the snow that fell that winter.

that was the winter you twisted your fingers in my hair and kissed me.
you used to sing then, sing that song to me, that hallelujah.

our love wasn't all-consuming, but it was.

the shape of you was simplelikesleep and
sometimes like the closing of eyes.

once i think you asked me if death was the true tyranny of humanity

(i think) i shook my head.

but i was lost in you by then and
blinded by the snow climbing along your windowsill.
i couldn't see past the shadow of you.
and you couldn't remember anything but the curve of my legs against yours.

the sad times.

the small warm noise of rain that starts in the dawn,
the rain that taps on the window by your bed.

turning over in the cool morning,
the softness of skin and the calm down blankets.
the cosmic center, slip a hand down between the sheets, who knew?

my whisper in your ears; i could never say no.
soft blue glow that illuminates the faces
that haunt every corner and

the street lights never get brighter,
the harsh white light only reachers so far.
the brown grass that sweeps down to my window rises in the rain,

throwing itself up towards the sky,
as if it could pluck the stars out from between the clouds.
last night was another turn in the darkness, another tumble and fall

and the moon never shone so bright,
never came down to rest in the space
between the door and carpet worn with a thousand repetitions
like i dreamed.

heavy fluorescent kitchen lights and the sounds of people waking,
an intrusion upon sad small private lives;
i'm hunching under the shower head,

watching the drip of water on your bathroom mirror.
morning loving, listening to the dog howling next door,
whispering, lips too close to skin,

and reaching out to cup the day in soft bare hands.