In December
Janine Canan
In December when the day sucks dark,
in the crawling slit of time,
I fell asleep on a starlit field.
Snowy fingers poked me but I
sank deeper into my desire
for once to meet the night.
Little fires inside warmed me,
though the wind blew cold
as a warning voice.
But how I longed for the night,
her secret subtle cheek, her opening mouth,
her wet tongue.
My fires flared as the hillside
curved before my eyes
into a silk sleeve or a soft breast.
My heart sighed as I sank
ever deeper into this surprising dream,
and snuggling up to her back,
my right hand that took so long
to grow strong melted round the moon--
I slept on.
