Your sound, dusk and rimmed with gold, sways from the tips of maple leaves to leave tendrils on my tongue
a taste wiry and flushed with heat

sometimes I can still sense
from under the surface of watery bed-stained red
that other, rusted cable

Taut within my heart’s caisson
and as you approach it’s all hum and ache

Our banter never quite passes for conversation.

And why is it that last night the numbers added up and the wine released its crimson warmth
like clockwork
and our mouths moved in liaisons under the strange salmon light

now all’s been decanted,
exposing the empty decanter’s drudge,
sediment
what’s most surprising is
how quickly
still
I regain my
breath.

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