freja-beha-erichsen-tomek-szczukiecki-for-interview-magazine-designscenenet-03I miss intimacy
not the kind that comes with notches
but holding back her hair
spooning her smiles
into my lap
she claims my whole in little hands
where I see the flush of cheekbone
eclipsing against wool
if leaves fall outside we do not
clear them from dry grass
fervently my kisses
linger beyond chiming hour
expectation demanding we
still our rapture for mundane
wash dishes
scour chores
instead lying in each others arms
our low fire keeping at bay
worldly cares
nothing but this exists
surrounded by shadows we
persist in our linkage
pulling faces at the chill
edging our clasp for one another
as two children lost in forest may
share timbered warmth
I miss her plum mouth
the way she reserves the longest
embrace for passover darkness
how her body surges like
a water wheel against my slow pull
as if I am garnering from our union
the best of us both
encased in fire, disputing chill
without her I am just a person
tredding tightrope
touching concrete and fabrication
like a carpenter, void of wood
should raise his empty hands
beseeching listening deity
for the weight of
his craft
she became the life preserve
and I the blinking shell of light
guiding her to familiar shore
without each other
we are simply icebergs
seeking dissolution
in barren stretch of ocean