Sung last night, when we pulled curtains tight
and blocked each bulb of light from streaking
our window. We sang in darkness thick, of sweet lyrics,
of wit. This morning late slept so when the rope broke
the sun was miles above the horizon, overwhelmed
by love strung bright as sweat seeping between clouds.
I came to you in pieces, in sheets, like notes in a pale.
You picked me up, hung me on a staff, and on a sail.
We loved quick-hot and deep-long. I plucked
at you like a string. You came on like a song.