The Way You Carry Me

You are sound asleep now,
in a bed I've never shared,
in a room I saw just briefly
on my first visit to your house.
I imagine your even breathing,
your body drawing up energy
for the work of tomorrow.

My body fights the urge to sleep,
leaves me in the awful need of newness.
I rest there without complaint,
with joy and anticipation.
My mind turns and turns
over the cadence of your voice.
I hear again the words you dropped
like silver
into the midst of my questioning.
How in all of your life
you’ve never known
a relationship quite like this--
how beautiful my face appears
in the dim light of candles--
how you struggle to put that beauty into words.

Those words caress me,
quicken my pulse,
feed my longing.
I rise to their thrill,
to the memory of your hands on my body,
into the growing seed of new knowing.

We are unlikely lovers,
yet love’s memory holds us.
There is something so brand new
about the way you carry me
to places I've never been.