I have wanted
to love you. Not just
to love you, but to love you
in the way you want to be loved.
This is not always the same thing.
A woman walks out into night
and it holds her. Sometimes
this comforts her. Sometimes
she is terrified. Sometimes
she loses her own edges
and becomes night.
There is no loss in this.
There is a moment
just before we say
I love you when the feeling
is truer than the syllables
that follow. That’s what
I am trying to do.
What night does.