you wake me with the ceaseless exploration
of my body by your hand. we are closest
before the sun’s ascension, when the room’s
as gray & brittle as an old woman’s fingers,
our limbs tangled like weeds
sprouting from the sheets. i whisper
sweet pleads with morning’s sour breath
as you finger the waistband of the striped boxers
i sleep in. you give in &
give me all of you. we come
as the sun illuminates the room in gold.
groggy and sated, you defend us
against the impending day,
swathing us in blankets plucked from the floor
as we untangle ourselves from each other.
the clock turns, starts the incessant cry of my alarm,
as easily ignored as a newborn.
i roll out of bed, enrobed in the scent
of your warm skin and worn out deodorant.
you watch with half-open eyes
while i roll the stockings you like so much –
with the runs from fingernails – up my legs.
nathalie kirsch is a boston-based poet. some of her work is forthcoming from electric cereal. she holds a bfa in creative writing (poetry) and hopes to receive an mfa in the not-too-distant future. her favorite pastimes include drinking too much coffee, body modification, spending money she doesn’t have, and making plans to break plans.