Dear Rachel

New Year’s was a mouth… a river… of want

stretching like power lines in the dark. Between our bodies

laid a desperate thing.

I held myself within that embrace. I traced my star into your shoulder blades,

and felt a year’s throb in my stomach. The jaw wept

of hunger for you. God. It was almost a flood. I was almost

the ruined mammoths and not Delilah.

I had to forget my hands to forget you and I still

cut everything apart. Into ribbons: one for your hair,

because I was also Samson, and one to place neatly between your teeth

and tongue… the night swallowed me.

A year held its stolen breath and I held

mine. Against your stomach where I could hear your love like an ocean,

I held my breath and tried to forgive the dawn

just like every other night

that year.

(I love you.

Eugene)