Behind a locked door,
I can only think about
Simple compass circles,
And I am forced to steady my mind.
Your forest eyes follow me –
Will she? Will she really do this?
Slowly, I pull off one sleeve and then another.
You take me at my word,
Settling on a pose.
“Are you sure you can stay still?”
Are you sure? Are you sure you want this?
I nod, lounging across your pillow.
Every curve and crease
Drifts onto blank paper.
It’s the first you’ve worked me out
In pencil lines and ebony charcoal –
I couldn’t draw as you do.
You’d laugh at my sloppy lines
And squiggled fingers.
Artists scrutinize every motion,
But it’s better to lie here, still,
Soaking in sun through the cracks in your blinds.
You capture the feel of my skin,
The light that strikes my eyes,
And the thump of my heart.
I am merely lines and shadows
To a cross-hatched world in your mind.
Finally, work ceases.
You move to me
With shaking hands.
I grasp hold of each,
Pulling you to me,
And close my eyes to feeling.