do you want to be loved
behind double hung windows
grey-washed with rain,
where tail lights and high beams
dissolve in twin rivers
of red and white bokeh
from steam made by damp clothes on our loft radiator?
later, we’ll laugh like accomplices over
pale green konacha
as we gently bump ankles
sakura petals fall
freed from our insteps
at the 2-seater sushi bar
in the Japanese grocer's
(bend your neck closer)
would you rather be loved
in down comforter autumn
mornings before i head into clinic?
from the limestone-tiled bathroom
i remind you to
put out the recycling
before you get
lost in your writing
unsure that you heard me
as delta waves claim you
enfolded in cotton imported from Egypt
submerged in my scent
300 000 years spent perfecting
do you want to be loved
in mountain lake stillness at sunset?
my breasts limned in rose gold
swaying above the
sharp jut of your hips
on the sofa bed
where you slept as a guest
in the last house i rented
before we both traded the pyramids
and their dust-filled
canopic jars
for stacked mismatched coffee cups
signed copies of Vonnegut
paint brushes in honey pots
and a diacritic-keyed Remington
inexplicably found at our town’s farmers’ market
that week when the vees of wild geese pointed northward
and the sun dogs coursed forward
if none of the above
will you then teach me how you want to be loved
so you also perceive the
synonym of miracle is us?