Cut flowers

Pardon me,
if I should fall
to you
for you
with you?
As an autumn oak leaf
lulled low by the gravity in your eyes
to cashmere-touch your familiar skin.

(Have I been here before?)
(Have you?)

Struck shy
we glance toward and away
as though afraid
we will catch each other looking.
Of course we are looking.
It’s not a fucking locker room.

Or is it?

Squinting from the shock
of bright Pixar lamp lights,
dazzling and distracting
as I cut all the budding flowers
from my lips before
they are able to bloom into-

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Sleeping Arrangement

When I share a bed with two others
I always lay between
Because I dream so still and quiet-
my feet don’t kick or cause a scene.

It’s good to be in the center-
This arrangement isn’t new.
With he and she beside me,
I sleep warmly all night through.

Our bed wouldn’t suit just anyone,
We know this for a fact.
But I will say that it feels divine-
to have soft skin at my fore and aft!

tentative roots of a possible tree

His voice when he calls me,
is the sort of warm you get
with socks, right from the dryer.

“Really, really good,”
He answers my first query.
I know it has to do with her.

He tells me how they went climbing,
and he was afraid, but sent the problem.
The way she looked over at him-

(Here, he interrupts himself to exclaim about how romantic it was).

“And she looked at me and said ‘I love you,'”
he finishes, quietly.

My throat is tight with fierce joy.
Smiling broadly,
I spin the golden band
on my left ring finger.

We chat for a while-
about how he said it back,
how happy I am for him,
how cute her dog is.

And about whether or not
we should look for a house that allows dogs
when we move in the spring,

Playfully grave,
the way we discuss things
when we know it’s far too soon.

Cincinnati looms behind me.
I ignore it to watch the joggers
who pass in front of my rental car.

I think about flying home
and finding them both in my bed-
warm and happy as socks,
right out of the dryer.