I slept stupid last night.
I crumbled the blanket and made a divide
Between me (the log torso) and you.
Some point after midnight, but before four,
When January rattled the window pane
And February rustled the wood,
I turned and faced you,
Swan back, arm extended over your head,
One across your brow—
A twisted Venus.
I was still, I listened--the long curves
Of your slow back spoke dark mahogany—
I kissed the shadows nestled in them;
Men dream of such a winter solstice.
And these tired sheets, billowed by cold squalls
Were content with long nightfall.