The First Time We Made Love

listening to the songs I played for you three years ago
I remember the way we made love three years later
my hands inside your insecurities, trying to keep your secrets
safe and sew up the gashes men have made in you

there was honeysuckle dew in the night air
and it made us drunk. you said you only wanted
to make contact, to hold and cherish and sanctify
you must not have understood: that is all I ever wanted for you

love notes from your boyfriend decorated the walls
and I read them after you had fallen asleep.
you write about him. I write about you.
this is the way it has always been.

but kissing you under his shadow only made you
taste sweeter, and I finally found what I had been wanting
all thirty-two months. you loved me
that night. I was so lucky.

I knew your scent would leave my mind
when I woke up, but at least it was heavy
between us under starlight.
I never could quite shake you.

following you from room to room, losing
you and finding you, waiting for you
to want me back, watching you spin
and falling down with you. I was afraid.

there are things I never told you, things
I could not keep between my ribs any longer,
and you have such keen vision, I knew you
would see them if I shifted the wrong way

you have since called me significant
and I still have trouble hearing you clearly.
but here, with these old love songs reeling me back
I am spun into silk for you again

the first time we made love will be the last.
I have still never met the man you call home,
but he will carry you forward without me.
he will love you well, I know

and I will miss you as you go.