Three

For djjo

Sunday night I’m tired,
lying face down, listening.
He tells of flights,
the friend at the airport,
the hotel room alone,
tracing my scalp and shoulders.
I move between worlds
absorbing his voice
from different perspectives.
His tongue caresses edges 
of my silence.

Holiday Monday I’m tired
of long weeks leading up.
A café under locust shade:
our conversation runs
burst smiles, languid backwaters.
Sangria draws the hour long,
resting feet beside
beneath the table,
soft public gestures
look forward to turning
intensely personal.

When I was a child
someone told me
thunder was the sound
of clouds crashing together.
Now I know it comes
from electricity.
When generous lovers
familiar with the wiring
touch on a summer bed,
their slightest movements
send waves across the city.

~~~~~~~~~~

We met on July 4, 2003. Despite my ups and downs, the three happiest and most contented years of my life.

With love, my dear.