Bringing Me Home

Bringing Me Home

I’m turned on by the rise

and fall of your Adam’s apple.


The sharp silver sparked

stubble on your throat.


You kiss the bridge of my hips,

move up across the tracks of my ribs.


My stomach throbs like river ice

in spring. You follow quiet

instructions, bring me home.


Afterwards, all I hear is my

own breathing, and the candle

flame catching dust in the air.