I am secure in the dark tunnel
your hair frames about my face.

The nightroom is violet,
moonlight rouges your cheeks.

Gentian fills the air, we’re children, we whisper excitedly
into each others ear, ticklish, warm, and sensuous.

We move invisibly, pepper-silk sheets, timeless postures,
silhouettes against the open bay windows.

Night breeze blows cool streams across the bed,
refreshes me, each time I rise and fall.

I stare at the grace of the arc you cut,
at all of the napes where you crane.

My straddles throw you in shadow or allow you to be lit,
depending on where I am, between you and the light.

And when we perfect the flip, you’ll do the same for me:
twin souls dancing to the strains of a forgotten eclipse.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013