Photograph, December:

The shade of the pill-
Ow changes over months.
It begins relaxed,
Blue-grey, a cool hint
At blooming.

Her hands shake at the possibility
Of my body. She holds her apron
Like a shield but when I reach
Out I find a rope. I pull her
In and we are bound.

The first time we kiss she
Is a ghost and I am a gambler.
We dream about vacations.
I speak when there’s nothing
To be said.

Pillows inflame, puff out
A little and the sun sets
Her bed ablaze. I watch
But can’t speak. I grit
Down hard on this desire

But I don’t know how
To stifle it. To be in love and
Miserable is the same as
Being in love and joyous.
She teaches me the truth
By saying nothing.


ER