Launching from plush chair
to a seat below
and beside me
on the wool carpeted floor,
he comes closer.
Our talk bounces
even spins some
between now and then–
the surprisingly many shared thens.
As his broad hands, accustomed to touch
in work, in nature, on board, on bow,
brush and pet, across and across again,
beneath and atop, thick warmth of blanket
upon which I sit,
I almost speak his unspeakable–
Why not bring your hands to the warmth of my flesh,
as they keep wanting,
and carry the rest of you right along with.
These inches between us
aren’t the turbulent ocean of your imagining.