Matins

We leave the bed where your fingers
are a long, thin surprise, where your tongue
tells me slow stories. I watch you,
In the daylight, bring your hand
to my face, to my mouth. I tuck
pieces of myself behind
in the tangle of our bodies.
We make our way onto buses,
we pass old women who sit
rocking and tapping their feet,
we blow our noses, clear our throats.
It's just life picking us up,
moving us from one place to
the next. We fumble for our keys,
tie our shoes, greet people we
care nothing for greeting. But
today, when you reach into your
pocket, you'll find the curve of my
neck, you'll brush away my hair
from your cheek. I'll slip inside
your shirt, lie flat against your chest.
Your hands will catch themselves
reaching. And the scent of me, the
scent you long for, will draw you home.