Curate, connect, and discover
Don’t keep opening that door or the sunlight will get me, grip me, force me warm through
like your hands do like the whispered suggestions you put to me when I’m edging closer to dawn.
Don’t keep leaving perfect blossoms on my pillow, their imminent demise leaves stains, my love,
and I think the secret is
we’re not changing the ending from here no matter how sultry your promises
this will hurt sooner or later it will hurt
more with these crumpled sheets cradling your body right inside daytime,
more with that door wide open to falling brightness, falling yearning, falling cautions abandoned
on white-painted floorboards, in the folds of your dropped clothes, under your tongue,
in the breeze slipping past these blazing sunrays.