6am lace underwear,

the smell of amber and patchouli

by open french windows—I see

two shadows in the shape of breasts

cradling light between here and there.

I see gray bridges leading to your lips

and an ember like a lighthouse

calling me home.

My eyes dock eventually

at the shore of your hips. 

Sapphire notes of Billie Holiday wrap

themselves around your waist

where my palms transport longing.

Their ballad swells like waves

within my heart.