USA

meuel@batnet.com 

AWAKENED AT THREE A.M.

I.

The bedcovers 
are on the move again,
slipping away 
like the last brown leaves
from bare November trees. 
Once again, 
you wrap them tightly
around you as you sleep.
And, as always, 
you do it with such ease 
and grace 
and subtlety
that I am reminded 
of great art.  
         

What now? I ask.  
Do I boldy tug, 
destroying 
your cozy cocoon 
in one swift, 
decisive stroke?  
Do I wake you 
and ask 
for a fair 
and gracious compromise?  
Or do I simply 
let you sleep 
while I search my kingdom 
for another covering?

II.

Then, when I turn 
to your side of the bed
and find 
only a great flat land 
of moonlit quilt,
I wake 
from my delirium.

Tonight, you're out of town - 
asleep in some hotel
half a continent away.
You haven't robbed me 
of the covers 
that keep me warm and snug.  
And I'm still as comfy as a cat
pressed against 
a sunny windowpane.

Now, instead of great art, 
I am reminded 
of the story 
of the man 
who complains 
about his itching toes
after 
his leg's 
been amputated at the knee.

III.

But, unlike my friend
who'll never scratch 
his toes again, 
I know 
that you'll be home
in two more nights.
And maybe, after 
we disconnect our loins
and you fall asleep 
upon your side,
you'll begin again 
to wind those blankets 'round.
     

As I turn my head back, relieved
that neither you 
nor anyone else
has seen my foolishness,
I suddenly long 
for the prickly touch
of cold night air 
that comes
whenever my covers 
slip away.

That's because 
it comes with you,
who awes me
with the largeness
of your presence
even 
in the midst 
of your absence.

REMEMBERING 
THIS MOMENT

As candlelight 
sculpts us out of darkness 
and once again 
we drench ourselves
in long, slow 
strokes of me in you.
Now close enough 
to kiss each breast
and feel the twang 
of tongue on tongue.
Now high enough 
to look across
the landscape of years 
that unites 
our first uncertain touches 
with these.

BITE ME
(Katmai, Alaska)

Try it, 
you little 
buzzing vampire.   

Go ahead.  

Take one sip 
of my 
premium red.

© All Copyright, 2000, David Meuel.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.