Reserve a corner spot on your face

for me tonight. The center

is too much, always.

I would like to wear your chin as my own

to coddle the hidden hearts in your cheeks

to have your fingers describe me

in brail. Forgotten is my body

of a year ago, the green bud

and the dirt that fell around me. You

are different and the same, you

of rain without smog

of dew drops that spring rainforests

in me. Of the two of you

I like today’s version better,

the past is a tired dancer

who still talks of the dance. You

are moving next to me, you

are singing the one sweet chord

of a lullaby that has sung me to sleep

since my mother bowed out

and let the woman take over.