Tuesday
by Lynn Copeland You did it slowly, like...
You were looking for something,
When I asked you to make love to me.
And when we shook the bed,
I left great red welts on your back;
Like excamation points.It's not a question, it's resignation.
Afterwards I whispered to you about your skin,
How I know your back better than my own,
My fingers followng the smells of themselves
In paths across you, like...Sailors, searching for a way home.
You fell asleep with a mouthful of my hair,
And I told you about the weight of breath,
How it's hard to find the air.