god, i miss being the big spoon.

& how i'd come to bed & you'd

already be there on your side,

lying in wait for the ritual.

i'd slide under the covers & press

my body up against yours,

& you'd press back, two gears

in clockwork—thread my arms

around you & rest my hand,

serendipitously, such that it

cupped your breast & you made a

satisfied hum that shuffled my

atoms like a deck of cards.

i speak in low voice: i love you,

with evening gravel in my throat.

that warmth; the mystery of

life unravelled between our skin

& & &—i just want it back,

the moment, the pressure, my

arm falling asleep—i want it back.