by Curtis Bauer
While I sleep my wife writes words
xxxxxxxxxon my back.
She wants me to feel what she thinks,
xxxxxxxxxwhat's inside her chest.
When I wake the letter Q boils between
xxxxxxxxxmy shoulder blades
as if it were branded or etched.
xxxxxxxxxI think she traced C
but there's longing in her and she hates
xxxxxxxxxthe word covet.
Her delicate hands can’t hold desire.
xxxxxxxxxShe is sitting on top of me
naked, though her hair clothes her.
xxxxxxxxxThe bed isn't large
enough for this love tracing from her
xxxxxxxxxfingers. The room
diminishes when she opens her eyes.