Me_cafe_rougeby Jake Murray01 Jan 2016


I sense your tread light at my door,
your feet soft, the spread of the floor
as you wait, hair free, unfurled
about your shoulders, white cloth
about your skin, flowing.

Breathless, I sit, listening,
mind weaving fantasies of who you are,
hearing you wait, hovering on the
threshold, longing to enter,
hand against the wooden barrier

that separates us, the night
all about. Bedclothes slip,
my own tread across the dark chamber
to your breath, hearts beating
in the silence.

My hand curls about the
door. The moon watches in
anticipation, lamentation of so much
time lost. Let the gods be just,
let us be blessed,

let our fingers meet in
a symphony of touching,
an ecstasy of gentleness,
tears flowing, let the pilgrim
come to rest.