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I lost myself in the moment and found myself for a lifetime
Body Language
In the dark
wakeful night
thick and black
as the three AM sea beneath the balcony,
waves and breath
rise and fall.
His
Mine
His
Mine
Silk sheets
graze my calf,
form sharp wrinkles under my right thigh;
the pillow cradles the left side of my neck
more than right,
His hand
My thigh
His hand
My weathered creases.
Eyes adjust
under the moon’s aureole,
light and shadows illuminate his smooth mocha body,
his face
crevices and lines
come into soft relief.
His fingers
My areola
His skin
My hand
His inner thigh
The familiar becomes new again.
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