Image of shelter

Poems


Dream


Softly
your cheek
brushes mine,

    your eyes downcast,
    mouth barely open.

Your hands
grip my arms,
not pushing, not pulling,

    unsure
    of what comes next.

I taste your lips,
gently,

    as if tasting
    grains of salt
    from my palm.

I breathe in

    your breath.


January, 2000


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