the lazy strumming of guitar, he listens to her sing
               of the way the colour of his smile
          leaves her breathless
                  the way his heart lies awake in her bed
                and spins the evening onto her tongue;

   leaning against the porch, 
          she commits to memory
       the arch of his shoulders, the cusp of his hands
                 grassland sunshine streaked through
           the expanse of his skin;

                                    all in a day’s work –
                   he nestles her into his shoulder
                         over-sized chair their throne of one;
          the adornments of her touch
                              painted down his neck, across his throat
                        as she hums to him the warmth of their bodies:

let me tell you the things I know:
the ends of this plane do not know
what lengths I would reach for you;
the scratch of pen on paper do not translate
the soothing fire you released;
                        the world’s greatest stage cannot show you
                                                 that I will raise you up
                                                 to the stars
                                                     to see you succeed

        goddess help me, she breathes
              his hands in her hair
the things you conjure in me …