Blue-Black

Listen to Sandra Marchetti read her piece:

Sweat rains
over a river—
I end in you,
delight in our
slick;

we rub our eyes until
we’ve made owls
of each other:
under the lurching
fur of eyebrows,
the blue and green
of our sight glows,
flicks out and open.

I pull my body,
an alabaster mask,
and push—your fingers
like pale spires
against me.

Here in the night of it,
an hour where dark weaves
between the trees’ trunks,
the black hooves
of the earth,

we release names.
We become studies
in ardent identity,
lasting until you
sleep to sense.

Awake,
I am ethereal against you.
I come into the curve,
I lay down the other—
light uncurls from foreign hands.