Waking My Love

When I entered your bedroom
cool because the air conditioner
ran all night, while outside was humid,
the stale air of mid-summer's heat wave,
I had been alone three hours
trying to write something
then reading and finally paying bills:
I was lonely for your presence,
a separation made long
by night and then measured
in minutes and seconds.

Outside it may as well have been
an afternoon in Jakarta, hot
and sweaty and I felt far away from you,
not just a room between us
but oceans. Then, your bedroom door
left open, I saw you lying naked
under a single white cotton sheet,
so cool and distant and perfect,
the shape of your body
outlined by the sheet and the room
almost completely darkened
by the drawn window shade:
I placed my hand on your hip
and felt the coolness, and felt
enchanted and tingling with delight
at your waking and your presence.