Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.
—Robert Hass
I want to tell you
about that night
I can’t forget,
about the musk
of the cornfield
where you & I lay
from dusk to daybreak,
with your sharp thighs
shearing mine
in our nest of husks
& leaflike things—
& the seawater taste
of your skin,
the scrape of teeth
against lip, your fingertips
meandering
down my spine,
me fingering the flesh
beneath buttonholes,
losing ourselves
in lungsounds,
about your skin
glowing
in the moonlight,
about your kiss,
pressed
to my collarbone
& forehead & wrist,
but, really, everything
I want to say reduces
to the entirely
simple fact
that I wish
you were here.
