He
A poem about him
He,
standing there this summer
as the dusk rises up from behind him
and reaches over our heads
He takes it down from the sky
and folds it under our feet
The night is draped around us,
and we bask in each others’ velvet breath
The warmth rising up
from our bodies mingles with the cool
night air he’s captured for me
His voice
earlier in the evening,
the music of the vibration
in his throat,
was deep underneath and hummed below
the laughter of the grass
tousled by the light evening wind
The chirps of crickets
played like percussion to the sound
of the language in which
he speaks only to me
Now his hands
are two hot stars burning
across my spine
as though the space between
its crown and base
are an infinity apart,
as though I’m an endless plane
across which he can play the song
of him speaking my name,
as if I’m a sky he wants to light,
like there is no…
