I dip my toes into

his eyes,

those pools

sage serene,

stirring for something,
perhaps a rasp of our breaths
like the wings of dragonflies 
scissoring through this metal frisson.

I am tempted to dive in

and make known my fears,

But instead I sit there beside him,

staring at the sky,

for a clearing of throat,

for a rumble

of rain

to pour down secrets on to my love's skin.

Those nights that smell of silence,
when strangers wallow between my secrets
and words bed their cruelest friends,
when I mother in dangerous succession
skeptical truths and lifeless living,
when I wear the laughter of fear
with its thickening clouds,
and my dreams migrate from unknown to unknown,
broken only in sweat and
unsought flapping of clipped wings,
its guilt, its protest,
when I am lonelier than this night,
when I am the darkness of its wine,
its dissolving inebriety,
its excluding insatiety,

those sick sick times

I seek you,

those bastard hopes, 

brutal bruises

fathered by anonymous love.