Tonight the sky will be moonless
and it is just as well.  Tonight
the August wind will find us half 
an earth apart, as broken as 
mosaic skies and just as flat, 
its small pieces of glass and stone 
glued to the wall.  I lie quiet; your 
kiss gradually dying from my lips.  
My summer sheets are charged with the 
verve of you, they sink into the spaces
where we clung like dragonflies.
White summer sheets settle around 
my skin like bathwater, a white 
warm bath of milk.  Softly they fall
to the spaces where your body, man 
of my heart, was the tangent to 
my curvature, the s-curve, suddenly 
eradicated; the contrast, paled.    
My face rests on its side, deep 
in the scent of your pillow. 



19 aug 01
M Madison