Sverine in Summer School

Naked for twenty-four of our last thirty-six

Hours together, and I mean museum-quality, sex-

Shop, God-riddling naked, sapping gold

Light from the windows of her hundred-year-old

Baltimore dorm, we were hungry for selling

Points, like a couple in a showroom. Compelling

Arguments were made to close the deal

And children were discussed. I kissed her from heel

To head in a shower without water;

Then with. Nude, she read me a letter as a waiter

Would his specials, and I couldn't keep

My eyes off: smooth shoulders, belly, pelvis,

Deep olive skin all a balm against sleep.

It was from her sexy grandmother in Dieppe

And Séverine translated, both of us

Somehow drawn to this third party in a tidal

Sort of way, her lunar candor, her antipodal

Ease with words and the world. We were difficult,

Séverine and I, a beautiful strain, a cult

Of two. Even eating, we made lots of noise.

Even resting in bed, watching the trees,

Our lighter breathing, our limb-shifting, sheet-

Rustling, even our dreaming had fight.

Her heart was exceptionally loud—not with love,

But with knowing. Knowing what to be afraid of.