I bask warm when you speak;
my soul a drop away from the brim,
my heart that breathless instant
before it becomes
prey
running from the pack.
I inhale you to me, and I do not
want to breathe out
again,
even as I hold all thought at bay, away,
while thirst holds sway,
instantly fulfilled, immediately slaked,
by words that are no mirage,
by my sense of you.
I find my questions superfluous
as I am enfolded
in answers like arms needing no words;
what you say, what you leave
unspoken,
how you say it, how you fill
the spaces in-between,
takes me to the warmth, to rain,
when my senses can taste sweet grass
in the desert air, and not be
inundated.
I bask in the warm of these,
my whimsies,
where I can dance
through your dreams,
believing myself there, painting
my desire with your brushes, etching
the shadows of you
with unwearied fingers and hands and tongue,
and trusting self and I, safe
in your weavings.
I inhale sanctuary into me,
that short minute
between my day and yours,
among all the concerns that draw us away
even before hello,
and I do not want to breathe out again,
even as I do.
