I know the strand of darker hair
that falls in front of my ear,
the one you noticed when I
leaned into your willing chest.
Your gentle fingers slowly tucked
and smoothed, then raked a row from
temple to nape. I couldn’t see your eyes,
but I felt them seeing golden, flax, and sand
in trinity and bending to your will.
I felt you seeing fingers and hair
but maybe also a woman and the colors
of her soul as they look to you now,
the meta-cognition that they’re changing
every instant, the momentary question
what does she feel about my fingers in her hair
or the words I haven’t said but may have thought?
I felt you seeing the painted husk of me, but tender all the same.
My sigh might have been a gasp,
an unbelieving wish