it wasn't supposed to come to this.
one night, a chance to forget
and lose our selves and fears
in a tumbled heap of limbs and lust and what,
in our younger and less vulnerable days,
we might have called love.

i was not one of those girls who
need men like they need oxygen -

and i suppose that is still true
but i do wear your sweater when
i am alone, its' fibers woven
with the dark deep moss and
spicy earth of you. your heartbeat
races (or is it mine?) and i
curl up smaller inside it just
the way my hand is engulfed by yours.

and i was furious the night
that i missed the weight
of your head resting in the
hollow of my stomach and i thought
'well, maybe this is love'

but i couldn't tell you.

and we sigh, we sing
of things that we should speak of
but we are too old for lies and
too new, too uneasy with the tangling
rhythms of our words our hips and lips
and these fever dreams.

12/26/2007

Posted on 12/26/2007
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