.

sinking into bed by weight and gravitas,
its tug, the slip-hip curve of silk along
the edge of something sweet and cool,
an August pull to fool the damn dense
day now swept away by fading light
and shifting sheets from left to right,

a curtained veil sails night
into a billowed breeze that
gloves the room and skin in
dim diaphaneities, the on-off-in
of coming sleep, this soft
occassion for his words

inside my head, their drift,
the oh of saying so-so-so
bleeds tones of crimson into black,
the jet push-pull of crimson-black,
the velvet vagueries of when
and then their letting go