“Through Closed Blinds I Counted Lightning”
Your hair became mine
then the wall’s… and the floor’s.
Your outline broke-back twisted,
contorted in a pale bed-color mist.
Bodies dreamed around us—
the haunting patter-purr of cat feet
beneath and behind door frames.
Outside it’s raining for the first time since I can remember
and God Almighty is that thunder’s timing perfect
or what.
A digital tinge gropes you in backlight from the infomercial
television going on and on about…
Each inch of me is each inch of you and I’m sure I’m dreaming.
I even ask you and you say with open eyes at mine,
“I don’t think so.”
Well, I don’t think so either anymore.
Words pass between us like blood between organs:
we are vital, throbbing, and ready.
IND -> ERW, 8:32am EST
