Today, distracted by two kiting birds,
I thought of you, I thought of you in words.
I thought of spending afternoons with you,
undressed, sunk into pleasure. At the coo
of "pleasure" in my secret inner ear
(my back convecting, sure that you were here),
my mouth came open at my body's arc,
an evening primrose, flushing, sensing dark,
and all at once my exhaled breath became
that incantation of my days: your name.
That incantation follows me to sleep:
tonight, distracted by my fingers' sweep
among my body's secret slubs and burls,
I thought of you, I thought of you in worlds.
HANNAH LOUISE POSTON