I welcome you reluctantly.
As we begin
I’m searching your eyes for the end
inside the intimacy of a single moment
one held apart from all the rest,
in the sudden clutch of fevered breath, you approach
my thoughts like a pale moonbreast,
beating steady, penetrating
quietly illuminating
my mercurial flesh.
Slow spread legs, wings bending low on a bluelagoon ledge
a string of evening windows, each a-glow.
Your mood alights upon my chest
the ache of desire is laid to rest
amid the currents on the breeze;
I carved our coordinates into the trees
but the nightwind sang with a stomach choked of sorrow
my love, my love, my love,
a ghost,
already left.
.
.
Allison Marie Conway 