Cave

Here I hide while you are gone
curled against the dark,

not knowing whether
your hot finger

might reach to stroke my spine,
your tongue undo me.

My skin scrapes ice against
each next hour.

Crouched under granite streaked with rime,
I stop breath.  Wait.

Above, green tree-light ladders down
a crevice I cannot climb

for fear I’d see you
not returning.

If even your shadow
crossed the light,

I’d set my foot on diamond,
blow my heart to point of burst

& lift up to your blue-armed sky.

 

First published in West Wind Review, and subsequently in Pulse & Constellation (Finishing Line Press, 2007)