- Erotic Poetry
- Union, Version B
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In the night, I feel you shift,
and my soft curled flesh
melts into yours; we mesh
and my hair, newly long, drifts
against my neck. You are there,
nose nuzzled, lips pressed
against the red-chaos of my curl-nest.
What is it we create here,
masked in flannel, bathed in pillow-cover?
We can pretend that our lungs sing the same,
That between us we share one whispered name.
No one separates this cling, this fasten to the other.
We can pretend the stare of the ceiling light no longer divides.
We can pretend we are inside.
