Nocturnal

Sat in our silent company, I spare you my eyes,
expectant-looking, on your calmed drifting face.

My eyes settle at your knees, folded under you and unpick the weave of your jeans. Each black thread

catching the light, deepening the night sky conforming to your shape. Set across your form, I pick out

a hundred lint stars, trace constellations around the curve of your leg. In the slight shifts of your breathing. I trace up

the curve of your thigh and each star now blends into white-grey cloud swirling in the dark air.

You’re almost cast in golden
streetlight. Me trudging home,
the dark is alive with possibility,
the cold air is breathy, keen.

My half-self, is nocturnal still, she shines in evenings, candle-like when I lay my head down in your lap.