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Though I have hours of work to do

I lie beside him until I feel

the quiet do what quiet does,

the fight and fuss leave his muscles,

and the growl and gruff leave my sighs

until we are at last two breaths

beside each other, soft and tender,

two hearts in the dark

with their walls down.

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Perhaps: A Love Poem

You are unlike
the bright taste of lemon

and you are unlike
the wild geese.

Quiet, you are,
and coiled in tight.

Not like the scent
of the lilies exploding

into the living room. Not
like the milkweed pods

that burst in milky froth.
But sometimes, when

I, too, am very quiet, not
like the perfume of wild

rose, not like the autumn
wind, more like

a hang moon calendula seed,
sometimes then

you let me in and I notice
how there is perhaps

another way to open
when we curl in,

shut out, say no.

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