Every…. fucking….. inch…
I wake up on an island in the night
and follow an exotic scent to you,
sleeping next to me, covered in blankets
and quilts you’ve collected from flea markets
and thrift stores. I wrap myself around you
and breathe deeply at the side of your neck.
I feel the warmth of your blood running here,
just below my lips. I can feel your pulse,
steady in your sleep, throbbing in your skin.
The blankets’ ancient smell mixes with ours;
our equally ancient, equally rich odor
of spent kisses and patient, thorough sex.
We sleep like candles on a warming plate.
I hold you and breathe love without a flame.