When I look at you, love


When I look at you, love, or when I stand in the dark, my fingers grazing the window sill, the cold glass, my breath graying the window where I lean close, and feel you step into the room, your eyes searching for me;

or when I turn my cheek, just a little, to better feel your breath change the shape of the air;

when the dark folds around both of us, so the colors of night, in this room, hold two dark, stunned silences;

or when you step close and closer, curving yourself along the shape of my back;

when I feel your fingers carefully, carefully twisting around the strands of my hair along the side of my neck, baring my skin;

or when you stroke two fingers, softly, down my throat, over my swallow, so that I shiver, just once, one long broken movement;

when your scent is a cloud of rain, cold from the shower, violet-gray and hovering;

when your damp hair slinks over my shoulder, so that I shiver again, as your cool hand slips over my waist;

or when I reach back, half-blind, to let my hand fall over your hair, gently feeling the cool under my palm, knowing the dark of you without seeing;

gently learning, always, the shape of you with my fingers;

when I’m torn in two;

wanting to turn into your arms, so you can kiss me full on the mouth;

wanting to hold still, letting you press my hip with your hand, letting you dig through my hair, then brush my lips with the soft skin just under your nails;

just brush;

I feel you all over me, all through me; I fill up with a dark quiet; all breathing, all softness and quiver, all knowing that you know me with your eyes open or closed;

that you relearn me in the dark or the cold or the damp or the pitch-blue early morning;

that I could be anything tomorrow, any body, any coloring, invisible, unable to move, and you would still love me; still want to move your hands up my arms in long strands of warmth and softness;

when I know this, love, when you look at me or just feel me in a room, the way I feel you;

I love you, I love you, I love you. You have no idea how much. It’s the darkest, brightest feeling I’ve ever known, shot through with color, threads of silver and cold, and part of everything else I know. Everything I see or breathe.