When you wake me I am blind,

closed around the night

and faded like the quilt,

born of the black still

poking at my skull.

 

But your insistence grants

me eyes, hundreds

on the skin

as I accept the rhythms

of our sweat.

 

And then your fingers

string last across my ribs

as you kiss the air goodnight,

and I search the room for shadows

to rock me back to sleep.