Sitting in the Smallness #35
July 19, 2001

I remember sitting in the smallness of your shadow. A shape as soft as a shoulder blade. Under a dirty rag summer sky, the humidity pawing at our secrets, how at night you hold me like a broken flower and our legs entwine like licorice. In the night time, when we peel more off then our skin and sit inside each other's shade; blood, muscle and mind, I wanted more then, more of your gentle ways, more then time gives because it never gives more then a day. And when you enter me as patient as light sneaking across my floor in the early afternoon, I try not to think of our dissolution, and I try not to think of cupping my hands full of water, but think of how one day they will fill again.