crossovers

when you come in through my door
it is always the first time we meet
i watch you
as you teach me how to move silently
gracefully through the objects i have worn out
so that they become quite new again
i keep track of the books which your fingers caress
so that when you are gone i can pick them up
and read them out loud
(so that you may find in a sequence of words or in a
pause
a little gate through which to pass over to me again)
noticing how my voice is more voice when near your ear
or into your mouth
my mouth more mine when on your neck
your arms your chest and other nouns of desire
and when you go out through my door
and into that private universe
of yours
around which the earth rotates
i lay here as i lay now
annihilated
mysteriously suspended
somewhere between
the gravity of your body
on mine
and the beautiful lightness of your heart.