I had you on the line that night, and we
were talking about our families, I think.
It was a Wednesday night and I could see
the dark outside grow darker, my eyes could drink
the dark like wine as my heart began to blink
at sparks that passed between us, you and me.
The carpet dull in the harsh light of my place,
the phone (its cord, the walls) pressed to my ear,
your voice forming a pattern like black lace,
I closed my eyes to let your form appear,
imagined your body, your dark eyes coming near,
imagined I could give myself as a gift of grace
to you, and that you, redeemed, could grace me
with your dark light and set me free.
Haunting, and haunted.