words

in her room the light is just a little brighter,
the darkness just a little darker.
i lie in her bed with a cigarette brandished
between two fingers and the light from that
is moreso than in any other place.
above and behind us the window cracked softly
to let in just a trace of that from outside,
enough to stand out stark and bold
against the darkened retreat of her room.
whether moonlight or streetlamps,
it spills in through that horizon
and forms itself perfect against her skin,
sitting there above me naked in all but purpose,
she wears the light like no other,
wrapping it about her like static
made from pieces of other heavenly bodies.
i study her like a painting,
i drink of her like wine of perfect age,
i consume her complete in my heart and
in my head, in my soul and in my hands.
we spill outside to say goodnight
and even there the majesty of her pull
brings all things to the space we command
and the wind blows on cue
with our movement and our breath,
caressing hair and skin and memory
softly and forever without disturbing a thing,
perfect in that moment we share
like all moments we share, vivid
against the backdrop of a world we can escape
in the company of one another.

-S.C. Martinez