I.
Night alive with my eyes, mouth,
and want.
Journal open, details of the day spilling out,
a fever of get it all down.

II.
Reexperiencing you through me—
my sounds, your heat.
My head falls back against the chair,
hair around face and neck,
and breath.

III.
Finished. Sent. You read all my entries
without comment.
And I rest through the night,
open like a book
held by your spine, cover,
and our connection.