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.