By Annette Marie Hyder
I see the way the night kisses you —
all down the length of you
her kisses wind along the ropes of your muscles
like she is performing an aerial routine
and you are the scarves holding her up.
She momentarily stops at the top of your clavicle
to remove your shirt with her teeth like stars
that sparkle lark song
and then she starts again
from the other side.
She rides the silk of your cords and lingers leaving
you half in shadow
as she licks and tastes herself on your skin,
breaths in the smell of leather and woodland moss, and she, like me,
pleasures in finding something of her own
wildness in the smell of you.
She wraps herself up in you like she belongs there, the night,
but she leaves room for me.
(NaPoWriMo day 22, poem 21)