I taste of salt. salt of the ocean and salt of your palm. you move your thumb
back and forth / back and forth across my back / across my back I carry the worry
of water that rolled me back and forth against flanks of sand and a bed of stones
so that I may carry yours. I know your blistered soul. I see where you go when you turn
out your light. I know your keys / your leather wallet / loose coins / the many man-things
on your nightstand. I am volcanic — your flare, your flash. when you wake, you summon
my heat and spring creeps closer. daphne blooms. a phoebe sings her name. the shadow
of a wasp outside your window treads across the sunlit blinds, builds its paper house.