Lemniscates

Recirculating like the winter fog,
currents in the room — cold angels —
kissed our skin with notes of trampled mint.

We were the warmth, the vibrant touch
of radiation in the dark. The scent
of you was every shadow, curve, and angle.
 
As I drew my index finger in a figure
eight across your thigh (infinity —
that figure feels so intimate) you arched

into my hand, and with that pressure let your
eyes close tight — mine, like gimbals, fixed
on your horizon. And we turned to glide
 
through clouds of lavender-black and shale.
Your eyes appeared, naked slits of starlit
specular gleam, the living seconds tensed

and breathing like the spawning fish inhale
the currents of the moon. We pulled against
the rushing linen sheets. Your skin let out
 
aquatic notes, your hair the black Pacific
kelp swept up in heavy tides. You caught
me with your fingers and your legs, and slipped

my heat inside your heat, until ecstatic
waves crashed along our backs, collapsed,
and left us in the thoughtless folds of night.