I felt it in the accidental bump:
Your shoulder brushing mine, your impact gentle;
A quickening of pulse, a natural jump
From happenstance to something transcendental.
A quarter-turn from sleep, my whispers fly
From mouth to ear, trace patterns soft as rainfall.
I should have seen the coolness in your eye.
The signs were there; I could not ascertain all.
It’s in the way my presence leaves no mark.
(The knife too deep, the razorblade too shallow.)
The quality of light–it’s in the arc
of shadows crossing sheets I’ve let lie fallow.
Too late to spin back time, too late to learn.
I let you turn your back, let my blood burn.