Eddie
Eddie likes soft kisses on the back of his neck.
My lips nuzzle there like butterfly feet.
My Eddie: olive skin covered with silky down,
chest and back coated with thick,
sleek fur that warms me when we cuddle up
after dripping moist pearls

on his sheets. We polish the pearls,
drink wine from heirloom crystal, the neck
of the glass an elegant, glimmering stem. My heart lights up
because Eddie has accomplished quite a feat:
he has flown me—us—into the thick
glaze of love, flown so high, I won’t look down

because if I do look down,
if I appraise the pearls
too closely, I may also have to appraise Eddie’s thick
random silence. Butterfly kisses on his neck
will be worthless if he walks away from me on spurnful feet,
startled at how high the glaze extends...

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