Losing Out

I am watching the creases and fold of your clothing—

The understandable shadows of fabric: 

The safety and mystery of concealed skin. 

I am watching them with a scrutinizing eye. 

Oh- if we could have let time freeze outside with us

When my hands were wrapped in your gloves,

And my fingers enjoyed the knit yarn—

If only they had stayed there! 

But we had warmed.

We took of some of the layers we wore.

We left them lying— with us— on the floor,

And I fingered the material of your neckline

And became curious for more. 

What I found was ecstasy with skin and bone

And sweat that collected in the concave of your collar.

What I found was excitement in friction

And the velocity with which we left and returned to one another. 

What I found was further mysteries 

In the arches of your feet, underneath your nails— 

The darkness behind your eyes and in your throat—

Within handfuls of your hair,

But what a disappointment it was when

I found nothing there. 

We awoke.

We returned to our clothes,

And we lived between two truths—

Neglecting to see either of them.

So, now neither will remain.