Where I Am

 

In your musk,
in the illusion of your wet stone,
your lonely heart,
in a puddle of your melted jeans
and cheap panties,
in words that fall from
your sun-singed lips
sometimes hard
sometimes soft,
in the melody of your poetry,
in the sad refrain,
in your warm bath water,
in your window framed
in streetlight
in pliable black and white
curvature,
your amaranthine appetite,
in the way you describe
what you need
in the way you want
happiness,
your guilt,
your regret,
in the black copse
where the wild things crawl
I am ever bent stalking
low to the ground
hunting
for your scent.

TA