somewhere nearby, playing drums with sticks in your hands. the same fingers
that touched me, made me feel light, tapping on the cymbal now, wide and shimmery,
like an unzipped smile, I let myself fall out an ocean on to you (how could you possibly
catch all of me? you weren't supposed to). foot on the kick pedal
like the heartbeat of your chest, my ear pressed against it, your narrow frame I noticed
the angles of your face as you slept holding me in this created intimacy (none of it is
perfect and it need not be to make me smile). the snare sharp and quick like intakes of breath
like your palm on my back and closer and tighter and collapse us into one, back and forth,
a trill. I like thinking of you still, back straight at the kit, knowing I have seen you, tall and naked
in the darkness of your room, and now you are clothed, and now you are not mine, somewhere
out in this city playing the drums, in my neighborhood even, maybe still with a hint of light
from me, from yesterday, in your chest, in your smile, in your eyes.
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