For the nights I spent away from you
I recall only an opus of beads that line your vagina
weaving my tongue into memory and nostalgia in my mouth.
For those nights I dreamed of only being a dancer.
We drank wine in bruised paper cups with no lips – softly pressing labia
brushing intention against my lip.
Such were our moral introductions – the safety
of treating our bodies like fragile instruments we must use.
Barefoot, you dance out of sight – naked,
leaving me to watch your prints sink into the cold floor, disappear
like the evanescent fog of a ghost body.
I do not want you to leave me but I do not stop you.
I wait for you to return the next night.