I didn't know what this poem was going to be about when I started it, but as I wrote it it became a description of a perfect morning after a perfect roll in my perfect bed with a perfect boy. Too bad none of it was perfect in the end.
Liveable silence
My fingers startled awake on touching your back
Tracing tender constellations of freckles
Flowing down the riverbed above your spine
Orbiting your waist.
My hands made slow and thoughtful by their knowledge of your structure
Careful over cords of muscle, the apex of a bone...
Our slim fingers the warp and woof of a bright arras
Sincere in our ocean of white cotton and early spring.
Liveable silence
My fingers startled awake on touching your back
Tracing tender constellations of freckles
Flowing down the riverbed above your spine
Orbiting your waist.
My hands made slow and thoughtful by their knowledge of your structure
Careful over cords of muscle, the apex of a bone...
Our slim fingers the warp and woof of a bright arras
Sincere in our ocean of white cotton and early spring.
