January 2010 – Blood, Sex, Crimson

petite morte

This winter has been missing something.

I realized, yesterday, it’s the cold; To accommodate guests, I’ve had my heater running for the last couple of months.

Last night, I shut off the heat.

And I slept as if tomorrow was a cool blue dream.

We can measure our lives by days.

Or we can measure it by moments.

I know which I choose.

I wanted to pet you
like you were something familiar

but your hip sway
and the curved planes of sinuous retreat
that mark the passage of your ecstasy
were too sweet
a distraction

instead
I fell beside you
on the bed
and learned you
the way the birds
learn to sing
and books learn
to be still

intimate without thought

you make me want
Sunday
morning
pancakes.