Whole

It is windy,
crisp and clear
as a tolling bell.
I walk beside you.
We don't look at one another.
We don't touch.
We are two halves of a moon,
separate now.

I remember your
threadbare sheets,
the old cotton
soft as chick feathers.

You will lay me down there,
all of you swollen and eager
and all of me warm and open,
blooming like a pink lily.

Your hands will
drift and stroke,
a soft wind
parting the
lush grasses,
until the rift
between us fills
with heat and memory
and we are suddenly
healed over,
shining and whole.