When we lay like this, quiet and still, my lover’s head resting on my breast,
his eyes closed, his head rising and falling with my breath, overlapped with shorter wavelength bumps
as my heart ticks the time passing
Does the sensation of my heart thumping cause blues and greens of tropical waters to illuminate the back of his eyelids?
Or does he smell a forest, earthy and damp, as the sun rises to warm it?
Does he hear his favorite poem, in the voice he imagines the author would use?
His ears pick up the gentle baritone beat of my heart, translated into electric neural dispatches
Does his tongue taste my saline sadness that he expertly kissed away?
Does he smell the dinner we forgot, and burned?
Does he hunger for the dinner we should make?
Hears me sigh, or is that a moan?
Nose fills with the scent of my sex? Of our sex?
In the the perfect, motionless silence between beats
Does he feel a tightness in his chest, as my heart tries, desperately, to inhabit his?