When I reach across and touch your face
Every time, and every time you return
To let my inquisitive fingers roam.
"It's like a spider," you say,
I can feel your eyes relax and
The corners of your mouth turn up.
What is a spider but a flittering
Touch that jitters across my skin
Like the footsteps of angels?
"You are beautiful," I say, "inside
"You can tell that from touch?" you ask,
And this time I smile at the silliness of your words.
"Make me a coffee." My demands are so small.
You shake your head, your stubbled cheeks
Moving beneath my fingers like organic braille.
I can make it myself, rising and moving
Through furniture I've kept unchanging:
A solid foundation for everyday life.
"I can't help it, I envy you," you say
At this I laugh, to cover my embarrassment,
Of course you do, I think,
My life is what I make of it.