Flutter

Fragments  Spoken Softly in a Blue Painted Room

When your eyes find me
in night's blue-painted room,
my skin blisters with your warmth.
Every bed-time
we sink lower into our pillows,
rooting ourselves as in
a box of earth.

We are governed by emotion:
you pose over me
as an amulet,
but it is you
that I need protection from.

Your eyes ignite, into the flames
of one million wildfires.
Every blade of grass
bends from your heat,
and I am the wind
that remains, fueling you.

I whisper aloud -

Christ is in a bottle
over on the dresser,
can you reach him?

as if
I tore him from a blank page,
to create him especially for me.
I am nude, an exposition written
of two bodies.

He paints my skin
with vocabularies:
love is grieving;
love is starving;
love is slipping
from the mind,
like some parted afterthought.
The knowledge of shame
is raped from our heavied sheets.

To get through this season of winter,
and all of our ghosts,
do not
let the sheets un-paint your form,
stay with me.
Because
snow
always returns.

Stay
with me

where
we are warm.