Marissa Hyde

Incalescent Night

sitting forgotten
on a coffee table,
a six pack you bought
finds my fingers
before it loses its chill.

this is you
in the form of habit,
i'm sure.
you are always warm.

when said,
this really means
forehead against sternum,
hands restless,
barely enough blanket for two,
the breath of laugh.

warm like
a hood pulled
over my ears.
on a concrete pier
with splashing spring lake water
misting me,
a storm falling in.
you say it must be
a nice night to sail.

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