MUSTACHE 

I was thinking

of it this

morning, those

marvelous hairs that

curl around your words 

and how they smelled with

frost all over

in the mountains 

And yes especially of that

time on the floor

looking like the

middle part of a thick

leggy bug I could 

just see

above my belly, moist and

floating up

asked 

is this

making your blood glow

EVEN THERE

It was December

and yes finally

you wanted me.

We ran down the

slick narrow road.

Houses leaned

together the colors

wine and brown.

Remember the cracked

snow, our scarves

floating, getting

there out of

breath, our

hair melting.

Boots clicked under

the door. There

were quilts on the

sloped ceiling

and the old

stove you smiled

toward going to

heat up some

coffee. I kept

looking around

to get it right: 
your suede jacket

hanging in several

places. Your

mouth was

corduroy I wanted

to touch

but even in the

dream, every

time I came

close to you

the place that was you

changed to air