Cathedral for Two

I tell you I love you in the morning. It's the first time I say it out loud,

even though my ribs have been aching with the effort of keeping it in for weeks

at least.

You look sad. You say it back. We're quiet then,

the ghosting years a solemn caress.

If you are the knight of cups, why

are you still running? If you are the only one I dream of now,

why then are you so far away? If you are the thunderstorm

over the water, why do I cling to your shoulders like a wise raft?

If we are the same kind

of magic, why do you still look so sad?

In my dreams, we stand at the kitchen sink, my palm over your heart

and your breath coming even. You tell me I'm inviolate,

that everyone who's ever touched me and made it hurt has been swallowed up,

pointless, impotent

against my alchemy.

You whisper that I am too powerful to be altered by mortal hands

at all, even yours, especially yours. I disagree. In fact, I am changing right now,

moving toward you like I am going to photosynthesize your voice

and scent and shape.

Temples can be desecrated, I argue. You shake your head. Baby,

you are no building, wrought by human hands.

You are something far more frightening and wonderful. Can't you feel it?

Listen: and you press your lips to the base of my throat, your fingers

to my last vertebrae. (I do.

I do feel it.)

We're twining again, tumbling against each other, lost at sea,

delirious and matchless and pure.

I can feel you everywhere, always,

your eyes with the golden light behind them

like the cathedral in the forest, the way I wanted you

like a parent when I was lost in those trees, in the blue night. I can't tell anymore

which of us was afraid first, but let this ferocity

eat us whole, I am done pretending that I don’t dream

of exactly this.

Being with you is like going to the woods. An escape:

sweetness and wilderness both. I am here to make love to you this night,

and beyond that I need no other purpose.

I want your moans.

I want the bruises on my thighs to purple

like the natural neon of coral in places I’ve only seen on postcards. I want you to know

that I have never been more joyful than this moment, except

for the moment after that one, when you turn back to take my hand and say

look, here, there is always more. This wilderness

is a generous lover. Take what you need, baby, take whatever you need.

I can feel your breath,

uneven, too early in the morning, drawing away.

My ribs start hurting again. You're too strong and too good

for me to catch myself at the edge, your clean air

wrapping around me,

your low lovely voice a feast for every season. I didn't mean to;

here we are anyway. Oh god of lost things please come pull me from this bed,

I am falling in love I am falling so in love.

You say you want us both to be free, absolutely free.

And we are, we always have been. Couldn't you feel it?

The two animals, warm and sharp-toothed, in your bed

when the sun rose again, ready for anything, ready for it all?

I wear your shirt to work. Your beautiful hands trace up my sides

as though I am holy clay, you bring me amber glass

like an offering, when I press my nose to your neck I smell the sacred curl

of a joint in August midnights. I don't know what to do with the life I've seen us live,

just visited, a photograph of a land that I feel I can't deserve, not here,

not yet. In the morning you are singing to the cat,

the joy of you a raucous hum in my arms, the letting go of you

my only task. Baby, I will, I accept it,

I accept it all.