Don't You Know

In the morning
you touch me—
a gentle caress
across my cheek
or over my hair—
while I lay
pretending to sleep
waiting for this
soft goodbye.

During the day
you call me—
kind words
and idle chatter—
while I work
in the house
hoping that you
will think of me.

In the evening
you return to me
I gauge your mood
and I wonder
will you share
will you listen
will you be kind
will you let me
reach out to you?

Why is it
you love me
so much from afar—
(often I wake
to find my hand
clutched in yours
as if you need
my protection)
but you show
so little when I’m near?

Don’t you know
I need your love
up close,
where I can see it
where I can smell it
so I know it
to be true
and not such
a bother to you?

Don’t you know
that it hurts?

Heat

A jumble of articulation across steamy air
Sounds with no meaning
I float on a cushion thought
That has nothing to do with here.

A face drifts toward me
Blond hair, icy-blue eyes
Ruddy complexion, slick from the humidity
A body toned and tanned

Is he talking to me?
What does he want?
More jumbled sounds
What does he want from me?

The sounds order themselves
He questions me
I answer in his language, Yes.
He draws closer.

He smiles
His eyes sparkle
He touches my arm
As if we share a secret

I feel the heat of his body
Down the length of my side
Oppressive and humid
Like the air around us

He’s attractive
Knows his effect
Works it to perfection
But I know better

He speaks again
I reply, No
So he asks me of my homeland
His comments sound forced

He presses me
Urges me to a table
Holds a pen and a pad of paper
Poised to write

Again, I say, No
Not today
I don’t want
What you’re selling

His smile slips
Eyes dim
He walks away to find another
I’m nothing to him now

But still, I feel the heat of his body.