[remembering last night is harder than touching you without looking up]

loving you was like

remembering to breathe,

forgetting i was alive until you look me

in the eye, hands reaching.

the sun passed.

we were half-lying on patio chairs,

smoking menthols and kissing

filthy slow and bourbon rich.

i put aside my overcoat

and slept with you on the ledge

of your kitchen window.

we woke up shyer,

quieter, less certain

of why you touched me last night.

sometimes the blossoms

close after dawn.

that does not mean

i should want you any less.